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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404923">A Triangle is the Strongest Shape (So How Did Ours Break?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onelituli/pseuds/Onelituli'>Onelituli</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Of Shapes and Songs [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Antarctic Empire, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Families of Choice, Family Dynamics, Family Secrets, Gaslighting, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Introspection, Letters, Literary References &amp; Allusions, Manipulation, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mythology References, November 16th and onward Rewrite, POV Third Person, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), References to SMP Earth, Swearing, Tags May Change, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Temporary Character Death, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), by adoption, he's trying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:21:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>64,440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onelituli/pseuds/Onelituli</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pogtopia never gained a third member. It would always be Wilbur and Tommy alone against the world.<br/>The revolution came and went. Was anything really different?<br/>After Wilbur's death, Tommy and Tubbo are left to pick up the mismatched pieces and fit them together when an unexpected discovery calls into question everything they thought they knew about their friend. They set out to solve the mystery that even Ghostbur seems to have forgotten, fixing long-broken bonds on the way. </p>
<p>Two friends find comfort in secret letters from another's past and present.<br/>A broken friend learns to heal.<br/>And a friendship thought unbreakable discovers what it means to fall apart.</p>
<p>(Or: Technoblade never came to help Pogtopia but was there for something else)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Floris | Fundy &amp; Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Of Shapes and Songs [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Crow Cult's DSMP Favorites, Long Fics to Binge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. November 16th, our last correspondence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pogtopia's flag only had two stars.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, hello, hello! I’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for quite a while and finally decided to actually write it and post it. Comments are welcome whether it be questions, analysis, or just a hello; I appreciate all of them and will try to respond, y'all give me so much joy. If you’re reading this and aren’t comfortable commenting, hello anyway and I hope you are well! And to any and every reader, thank you for coming on this journey with me and I hope you enjoy &lt;3<br/>Chapter lengths will vary depending on the mood and motivation of the week, this first chapter is likely the minimum word count I will post. Hopefully I will be updating this once a week or sooner, but we’ll see how it goes.<br/>Obligatory: this is about the characters portrayed in the roleplaying within the dream SMP, not the actual creators. There will be no romantic relationships.<br/>Fic inspiration came while listening to the musical A Little More Alive by Nick Blaemire</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If one were to watch the two exiles stand alone at the edge of a cavern their first night in Pogtopia, one would say that for a second they saw three figures. However, only two shadows fell across the barren stone.</p><p> </p><p>When the young blond might have been rescuing a powerful ally from spawn, instead he was gathering resources.</p><p> </p><p>The older, brown haired man still grew paranoid, but instead this time he confided in one old pen pal, who had healed as well as hurt.</p><p> </p><p>There was still a festival. There were still fireworks, but they were the pretty kind that did not leave mental or physical scars. Instead a brutal, democratically elected tyrant looked into the eyes of a traitor as he killed him himself, hefting a ceremonial golden axe as a scream echoed across the now renamed L’Manberg.</p><p> </p><p>The young exile stood against his pet’s killers, a god by his side, but he still felt alone.</p><p> </p><p>When the so-called traitor, who in time would be proven to be the most loyal to his country, checked on the automated potato farm in Pogtopia, he always felt like it was missing something.</p><p> </p><p>The previous President of L’Manberg was lost in more ways than one, but there was something else supporting him this time. The words of a friend, or at least someone who had once been one. The words of an enemy, then, who offered the advice no one else was brave enough to give.</p><p> </p><p>There was still a rebellion. It went mostly the same. The tyrant still died of a heart attack, as nothing could change that fate.</p><p> </p><p>But there was no vault of treasures for the rebels.</p><p> </p><p>There was no emotional duel in a pit that broke apart a fragile alliance.</p><p> </p><p>There was no Blade.</p><p> </p><p>Phil still came. A father would always be there for his son, no matter what may have happened in the past.</p><p> </p><p>There were no withers. There was no chaos. There was no final stand.</p><p> </p><p>L’Manberg truly went out with a bang. And only a bang.</p><p> </p><p>The world froze when Wilbur died. The silence after the explosion was more haunting this way. There was no rush to defend the remains of L’Manberg from terrorizing beasts, rather the citizens just watched as a father clutched his son and cried. Wilbur did not warn Phil this time of another bent on further destruction. He warned him only of himself.</p><p> </p><p>The newly named President brought everyone together to sing the national anthem. It's strange how a song once of victory can become a song of such sadness. The singers could’ve sworn that they heard more voices than they saw people, but no one would think too deeply about it.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe they should have. Maybe then they would have seen that another person joined the server, roughly two months too late. This arrival was left to wonder if he had come sooner could he have helped. Could he have prevented this? He would never learn that it would have been the opposite.</p><p> </p><p>The blond now no-longer exile would then have been yelled at and called Theseus. Instead, he was hugged and called son.</p><p> </p><p>In a month, a group known as the butcher army might have set out to kill an enemy of the state.</p><p> </p><p>In a month, the twice exiled blond might have made a dangerous deal with an anarchist.</p><p> </p><p>But this is not that story.</p><p> </p><p>This is the story of letters. Of a secret correspondence between two broken people that found solace in each other’s words of remorse, of loneliness, and of hope.</p><p> </p><p>This is the story of their mystery and of the two who decided to solve it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you have enjoyed the prologue and are as excited as I am for what’s to come.<br/>Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are always appreciated<br/>Next Chapter: and stuff you once called yours is packed up and stuffed in another wing<br/>The next chapter is already done, so it should be up tomorrow, woohoo! </p><p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe &lt;3<br/>Best, Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. and stuff you once called yours is packed up and stuffed in another wing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the destruction of the previous day, Tommy and Tubbo look through Wilbur’s things to try and find some insight into his life. What they find raises more questions than it answers.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter two babyyyyyy! As always, thank you for reading and have a great day :D<br/>(over a hundred hits? I'm honored)<br/>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been less than twenty-four hours since the revolution and Tommy was already impatient to move back into L’Manberg. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sure it was mostly rubble, but it was still home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The reconstruction effort ordered by the President was still bare-bones at the minute, as the large wooden beams that were set up over the crater as the blueprints for future homes lacked any actually habitable features. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy wasn’t even sure anymore if it was that he wanted to go back to L’Manberg that badly or just really wanted to get out of Pogtopia. The chasm was colder now, feeling as empty as the first night they arrived. Dark lanterns hung from the catwalks crossing the ravine, which probably would have warmed the space considerably if Tommy had actually decided to light them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil and Tubbo had said that they would be joining him to organize Wilbur’s things now that he was... gone. When Tommy had run into them that morning, Tubbo said that Fundy and Niki would also be coming along. It had now been about thirty-minutes since they should have arrived. Tommy was getting tired of waiting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the meantime, he had taken to wandering around the abandoned cavern alone. At first, he had wanted to enter Wilbur’s room to begin to sift through the seemingly endless piles of paper, but when Tommy had seen the deranged scribblings on many of them reminiscent of the walls of the button room, he had fled and resolved to only face it with someone by his side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The farm was empty. It’s long rows of dirt left untended and unplanted. Staring at the pile of potatoes sitting at the edge of the farm made Tommy feel strange. He couldn’t decide whether it was because of sadness, loss, or something entirely different. He and Wilbur had made that farm together. It had been their first goal, their first real step toward rebellion. Without food to sustain them, Pogtopia would have fallen apart immediately. Tubbo had eventually come and optimized it, but it remained a feather in Wilbur and Tommy’s cap. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They</span>
  </em>
  <span> had done it, and they had done it </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The farm was made by their own four hands. It was, in a way, parallel to the drug van, being a keystone of a country in its own right. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy sighed and kept walking. The walls were still covered in buttons, victims of a cruel prank that felt more like a pointed attack than a light-hearted joke. He knew that Fundy hadn’t meant anything malicious by it, but Tommy saw the broken look in Wilbur’s eyes when he had discovered the additions and couldn’t quite view it as harmless anymore. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Strange ant-like tunnels branched out from the main ravine, some boarded up with signs reading DO NOT ENTER and some that Tommy knew led into various parts of the SMP. There was one that led to a river near the border of L’Manberg and another that led to the sewers under the main part of the SMP. Tommy also passed the pseudo-prime path leading to Tubbo’s bunker under the city. He grew slightly nauseous at the thought that this tunnel had nearly led Schlatt to Pogtopia prematurely and would have probably caused their downfall had Tubbo not persuaded Schlatt otherwise. Tommy couldn’t help wondering if Schlatt had known what Tubbo had been up to before that or whether Tommy’s carelessness had been the nail in his friend’s coffin. Or rather, his execution box. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking of that tunnel, Tommy could hear distant voices when he stood at the entry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello!” A far more enthusiastic shout echoed back. The voices grew louder until Tommy could see Tubbo leading three other people down the path, lighting the way with a torch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo and Fundy looked happy despite it all, although Tommy would not be surprised to learn that these were simply masks they wore to cope in their own ways with the tragedy of the previous day. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil looked… well, Phil looked concerned. His expression of sadness laced with fear and regret hadn’t changed much since he had arrived. It seemed that every new thing he learned etched more pain into his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy couldn’t blame him. He knew that Wilbur and Phil had long since fallen out of touch, but when they had been together, Tommy saw the remnants of a true friendship. Phil treated Tommy like a son, but had only called him one and really meant it for the first time yesterday, and, on the other hand, Phil treated Wilbur more like a compatriot yet called him son much more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Tommy looked to Niki. Her eyes were cold. At least, that was how Tommy read them. They were more empty than anything else, and being empty considering the circumstances made her gaze seem harsher than it probably would have been otherwise. Her attention seemed distant, focused entirely on something else. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We came!” Tubbo beamed, “It’ll be nice to pack up this place and move on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy could’ve sworn he saw Phil flinch. Ignoring it, he said, “frankly, this place is an absolute mess, but I ain’t staying to clean up. Let’s just get Wilbur’s things and leave.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about your own things?” Phil asked honestly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause where no one was sure what to say. Tommy broke it with a quiet “I’ve already moved it all. Didn’t ‘ave much anyway.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy refused to meet Phil’s pitying eyes and instead turned to Niki, who said, “I won’t be here for long, I’m just here to grab the fox.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh right, Wilbur had adopted a fox right before the rebellion. In all that had happened, it had been completely forgotten. Niki walked off into the deep ravine, leaving the others behind. Fundy turned to Tommy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know this place better than we do,” he said. “What’s the plan?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Tommy scratched the back of his head, “Wilbur didn’t have much here, there was only his room and then some random shit scattered about the place.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to look at his room.” Philza said, placing his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All yours, big man. I don’t want to see it again actually.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll help, grandpa!” Fundy said with unnecessary cheerfulness but earned a reluctant smile from Phil. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy turned and pointed at the distant room, “over there, just be aware that he wasn’t… ya know… doing the best? There are still pieces of that left over.” He shivered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We can handle it. I know my son.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, unsure whether Phil would still think that at the end of the day. Tubbo stepped beside him and said as the other two left, “that means you and I get to search the rest of this place.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yay. I’m so excited.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo laughed and then grew more serious, “for Wilbur.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy began to walk deeper and deeper into the dark cave with Tubbo by his side. He whispered, “for Wilbur.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Time passed, Tubbo and Tommy only found weapons. A forgotten diamond axe there, a simple stone sword over here, nothing of importance. They came across the hole that Tubbo and Antfrost had once dug after Tommy had manipulated the both of them into helping him with another intimidation tower. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At one point they passed Wilbur’s room where they saw Phil and Fundy sitting on the floor together looking over his notes. His guitar sat on the ground next to Fundy, and Tommy saw how, every few moments, the fox hybrid’s eyes would shift to its strings and then return to the paper in front of him. Phil perused the writings with a heated intensity, almost searching for something. It seemed though that whatever he was looking for was not to be found as he only grew more desperate as time went on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Niki passed them a while later, gently carrying Mushroom the fox in her arms. The fox was curled up sound asleep in a small fluffy ball. She simply nodded to Tommy and left, walking up the stairs which led to the forest above the ravine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A couple hours passed, no one seemed to find anything of note. Fundy clung to the guitar and explained that he wanted to keep it afterward if it ended up being displayed at the funeral. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil grew more silent as the day progressed. The broken and destroyed feathers of his wings would shift and fluff with irritation as he read and re-read. He looked at the ravings on the papers in Wilbur’s room as a lifeline, a way to reach a son he couldn’t recognize anymore. Each phrase was an enigma. The style of the writing itself was so out of character from what Phil knew of Will he sometimes spent much more time reading a single sentence than he should have while trying to process that this </span>
  <em>
    <span>person </span>
  </em>
  <span>was indeed his son. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur had always been angst-ridden, writing songs about heartbreak and other such edgy themes, but these papers were filled with so much more. By so much more, Phil meant they were so much less. They weren’t vibrant like his songs had been. Sure they had been edgy, but there had always been a glimmer of humor or hope deep within them. Now it was only dark. It felt like he was stuck back in the button room, watching as his son looked at that tiny instrument of destruction like it was the sun. Was it really the only light left in his life?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil couldn’t understand how Wilbur had looked at their rebellion and seen defeat when they had finally achieved victory. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What Phil failed to remember was that staring at the sun hurt one’s eyes. Had that button blinded Wilbur to the rest of the world?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quackity dropped in later, telling them of the progress in L’Manberg and hopefully expecting that they’d be up and running in days instead of weeks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone was tired, but Tubbo asked if they could do one more sweep to see if they might find anything they missed the first time. They didn’t, at least not until Phil and Fundy had left. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy had been about to leave as well when Tubbo suddenly froze. The blond turned around to his friend, “what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I just- I-” Tubbo paused. Then asked unexpectedly, “did Fundy only make wooden buttons?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? I don’t know.” Tommy sputtered, “You gettin’ obsessed over buttons too now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Tubbo walked over to the wall where a small crevice was covered in buttons and began looking them all over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, buddy,” Tommy began, “we don’t know what those are hooked up to in de walls-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was interrupted as Tubbo pushed a stone button that Tommy realized did look out of place. Maybe out of place was the wrong phrase, it looked too much </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span> place. It was hidden in the wall, disguised to look like a stone. Whatever it was, no one was supposed to find it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The pair heard a few pistons fire and suddenly the wall opened into a room that neither had seen before. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was full of boxes, with papers thrown haphazardly across the floor and shelves. It reminded Tommy eerily of Wilbur’s current room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>However, contrary to Wilbur’s recent writings, these papers were covered in elegant script rather than maniac scribbles. He recognized one handwriting as Wilbur’s calligraphy or, if anything, his attempt at calligraphy. There was also another script that was completely foreign to Tommy, of which the quality varied. Sometimes it looked official and heart-felt in a beautiful, flowing cursive, other times, although it looked like the same hand, the cursive was choppy and violent as if it had been penned out in a great hurry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A singular pillow sat in the middle of the room with pens and sealing wax around it. Tommy saw a few candles and one lantern in the room which he supposed Wilbur would have lit if he wanted to be actually able to see what he was writing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, a thought struck Tommy. Out of all of the times Wilbur had disappeared recently, how many times had he come to </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> room versus the button room in L’Manberg? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy picked up a sheet of paper that was sitting on one of the boxes right near the piston door and read it silently, ignoring Tubbo who walked past him and opened a box. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy could hear Will’s voice in every line, each earnest quip and sarcastic remark he read produced a ghostly whisper of his friend’s voice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My dearest C, </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I understand that you are upset at being given this nickname, but I will not stop simply because your fragile pride has taken a hit. Deny it all you would like, but are you not ultimately a fighter? A guardian? I’ll let you guess as to what you are a guardian of exactly, can’t let you become too self-aware now, can I? Then you wouldn’t need me to point out all your flaws!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Would you prefer to be called a weapon? You know that was never our relationship. In our old letters we never used each other's real names, or have you forgotten? Or maybe you might like to be called brother? Okay, okay, before you come and kill me, I was kidding about that last one. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I fear for the day that someone finds these letters. You may wonder why. I can hear your voice now, “Oh, Wilbur. Wilbur, why would anyone find them if you did what I asked and burned them?” The answer is simple, I will not be burning these. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Contrary to your own self-deprecation, I find your advice illuminating and your general conversational skills too enjoyable to rid the world and my life of these pages.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I still intend to keep these letters private, especially from the one we both know would burn these for entirely different reasons than wanting to keep them secret. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The point? You ask me for the purpose of this? Does it need one? Can I not talk to you without ulterior motives? To be completely honest, I did contact you originally with a goal in mind, but that goal was to re-discover a friend, not to beg for an ally or use you for my own gain. It was to remove a weight from my chest and I hope that over time I may remove the weight I know you bear as well. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Regardless, feel free to return the nicknaming. I know from you it will be something dumb yet unintentionally deep. The nicknames and titles that you give to others always seem to hit at some inner truth. Oh, and you’ll like this one: are you just that good at reading people, or have your words heralded a self-fulfilling prophecy?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I do hope these letters continue to be passed between us. I might otherwise say to keep in touch if you have time, but I know you have the time living alone and all. And if you somehow do not happen to have time, make time for me. I certainly deserve it after going through all this trouble to pull you from your own isolation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Regretfully yours, </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Will</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Tommy?” He looked up from the letter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo had opened a few of the boxes and all Tommy could see were more and more letters. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Every single one of these is full of them.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yooooo! I am so hyped for this.<br/>Let me know what you’re thinking. Have you noticed anything strange yet? What nickname could Wilbur have been talking about? And you probably can guess, but who was Wilbur writing letters to?<br/>Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are always appreciated<br/>Next Chapter: There’s no reason to uncover this</p>
<p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe &lt;3<br/>Best, Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. there's no reason to uncover this</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy and Tubbo read through a miniscule portion of the letters and learn that the foundations of their past may be distorted beyond anything they ever thought possible. With prompting from Tommy, Tubbo agrees to assist in solving the mystery of this “C”.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Enjoy!<br/>More letters in this chapter, maybe you’ll learn a bit more about this C character, huh? Swearing tag comes in handy with angry Tommy (seriously, there’s quite a few swears from Tommy and from the letters, so just be aware if you’re sensitive)</p>
<p>IMPORTANT: warning for a bit of a panic attack from being overwhelmed, please stay safe (if you would like to avoid it, skip from “Tommy stopped reading” to “he shook his head as if to clear it”. I apologize if you saw this warning before it was updated and its error caused any difficulty.)</p>
<p>Number three down, Let’s gooooooooooooooooo! </p>
<p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Every single one of these is full of them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck.” Tommy pushed past Tubbo and began pulling out papers from the boxes. Some were still in envelopes, others looked well-loved, and a few even had pictures or drawings attached. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy, I don’t know if we should be-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He violently pulled a sheet of paper from an envelope and read, “to C.” He picked up another, “salutations Wilbur.” And another, more sarcastically, “hello, best friend.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy removed a photo that had been paperclipped to the one addressed ‘to C’ and considered the image. It was recent, that’s for sure, but not too recent, as the people in the photo still wore the original blue uniform of L’Manberg. It showed Eret, Tubbo, and Tommy sitting on the edge of the wall before it had been torn down. Eret was smiling directly at the camera with Tubbo sitting right next to them waving. While closest to the camera, Tommy was picking at the golden buttons on his uniform but also seemed to have been laughing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Desperately trying to remember when the photo had been taken, Tommy didn’t realize that his clenched fingers had begun to rip the edge of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo gently pulled the picture from his hands, “Tommy, stop. We don’t know what this is-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He snapped, “that’s the fucking point, Tubbo!” Tommy began to pace back and forth, “I’ve never seen any of these letters, I didn’t even know this room was here-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No one knew this room-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And,” Tommy almost screamed, “Who the fuck is this C guy? Wilbur didn’t say a thing- <em> a single thing-</em> about this! He kept it from me!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo sighed and said logically, “he doesn’t have to tell you everything about his life, Tommy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought... I guess I don’t know what I thought. He promised me- he <em> promised- </em> that we’d be in this together.” Tommy sat down on the pillow in the middle of the room and Tubbo crouched down to his level. He pressed his hands over his face and said, “I just thought he’d tell me. I mean, this guy’s obviously important if he’s able to fill an entire room with just letters between them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You might just be overreacting.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The letter I just read said that Wilbur was afraid of someone finding these. I think I deserve to be a bit<em> concerned </em> over what that might imply.” Tommy stood once more and returned to the box he had taken the first three letters out of. He looked over a few and took a shaking breath, “Tubbo, he’s been writing these since I met him…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo came by his side and nodded at him to continue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Meaning... the entire time I’ve known him, he’s been keeping these from me. From everyone it seems.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His friend pursed his lips and hesitantly said, “I don’t want to violate any privacy here, but Wilbur’s dead, and if we were going to invite people that cared about him to the funeral…” Tubbo trailed off. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, this guy would probably make the list. Problem is we have no idea who he is.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Or she,” Tubbo said quietly, “or they.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“True,” Tommy responded, “and I’m all up for digging through Wilbur’s personal life. The bastard deserves it for lying to me and blowing up L’Manberg.” He went back to searching through the boxes with Tubbo reluctantly following. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They began to sift through the letters methodically, trying to find out the rhyme or reason behind Wilbur’s filing system. There didn’t seem to be one because Tommy had already pulled out four letters whose dates spanned many months and had no similarities. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo didn’t seem to be doing any better, instead focusing on the ones with attachments. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, Tommy?”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Yeah?”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Could you read a few out loud? I’m just-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, of course.” Tommy said and began to read.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Will,  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Absolutely not. I will not be having any visitors ever. End of story.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Maybe if it was just you, I would consider it. Actually, you’re on the list of people I would especially NOT invite. Bringing your son is a terrible idea and I’m honestly surprised how it ever seemed like a good one to you.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Give it to Phil, I’m sure he’d cling to it like every child he picks up off the streets.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Sincerely,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> C </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> P.S. I am living in a mesa biome, thank you very much. I don’t even like the cold.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy grabbed another sheet of paper. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Yo C! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Congratulations on your recent victory!  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Not to burst your bubble, but is anyone surprised? It was certainly entertaining and all, but even being given a disadvantage you still swept the competition. In the end, it was just glorified bullying.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m glad you seemed happy during it though. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You sort of disappeared from the mainstage for a bit, doing who knows what on that island of yours. I know that you have wanted to avoid the spotlight recently, but no matter what you do or where you go it seems to find you.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What was it you once said to me? “Notoriety has its drawbacks, despite how many people covet it.” I understand now, or maybe I always have. It’s clearer at least, now that I have notoriety of my own.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I don’t mean to get serious, but do you enjoy it? Do you really? Winning? I know there’s something else in it for you than just the victory. I could see it in your eyes. I want to understand, C. I want to know what makes you get up in the morning again and again. If you would just talk to me, I think it would help you. Because, in the middle of the night, when it’s only you and your thoughts, you can’t justify what you’ve done. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I know you don’t like to talk about this, but I think you should. These letters aren’t only for me you know, however much you might claim they are. I know I reached out to you first, but if you were truly at peace with your choice then you wouldn’t have responded.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Awaiting the indignant return letter,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Wilbur </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy put aside that one with a frown, realizing just how much context he seemed to be missing. So Wilbur’s mysterious pen pal seemed to be a warrior or at least a competitor of some sort, but according to the first letter Tommy had read, it was likely something involved with fighting. And C seemed to be <em> good </em> at it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thought again about that last paragraph, about how personal the issue appeared. There was a long history between these two that somehow Tommy had not even noticed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wait, did Phil know? The letters mentioned him, so he would have to, right? Additionally, Tommy knew that Wilbur sent a photo of some of the original L’Manberg crew to C, so did that mean that the recipient of these letters knew who Tommy was as well? More importantly, did that mean that C was someone who Tommy knew?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He picked up another letter, noticing that the writing on this paper was very precise as if it had taken hours. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Will,  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> If you think that this is a journey you wish to go on, then go. I will not stop you and could not even if I tried.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> It is imperative, however, that you are incredibly careful. Step lightly. Do not do anything that might upset him.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Remember the goal of your trip. New beginnings and the healing of the past.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This is your chance to mend, Wilbur, what I never could. Do not squander it.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I am indeed terrible with emotions, but I’m sure Tommy and Fundy will be happy to see you. Maybe you might meet some new people too so that you don’t need to confide in me any longer? I’m getting tired of all this emotional labor.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m sorry, that was rude and false. I do enjoy your letters. Some days I find myself waiting at the box for it and immediately chide myself at becoming dependent on the only source of actual interaction I’ve had in a while. I do not want to be dependent on you and I would warn you not to become dependent on me. Again. We both know how that turned out the first time.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Whatever choice you do end up making, do not regret it.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Watch out for Dream.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Yours, </em>
</p>
<p>C</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That one mentioned Dream, Fundy, and you,” Tubbo said. “This has to be someone we know, right?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy nodded, “that’s what I was thinking.”</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
“What if it was Niki?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Niki?” Tommy laughed, “bad at emotions? I don’t think so.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo shrugged, “she’s not handling Wilbur’s death very well. We don’t know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They sat in silence. Both going through revelations of their own. For Tommy, he was realizing that he might never be over his brother’s death. He may have only been partially ‘adopted’ by Phil- if one could even call it that- but he would have considered Wilbur a brother. While, on the other side of the room, Tubbo was only beginning to understand that he was now bearing the burden that Wilbur had been so eager to get back, only to end up destroying the thing they thought he loved. Was Tubbo doomed to the same fate? Was <em> every </em> leader doomed to that fate?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This culminated in Tubbo mumbling, “no one’s handling Will’s death well, honestly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Handling death is a difficult thing,” Tommy agreed. They met each other’s eyes and smiled gently. Neither of them spoke, but they seemed to come to the conclusion in that silence that, whatever happened, they would handle it together. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy grabbed the last letter he had taken out, “We’re both tired. One more letter, eh? We can always bring these back and go through them on our own time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The funeral’s tomorrow.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think we’ll find out who C is by only reading these letters. We’ve gotta do some investigatin’ and shit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo laughed, “who knows, maybe C will be at the funeral and we can talk to them then? Do a bit of detective work at a funeral? Oh, wait, that might be a bad idea.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy smiled at that and began reading one last time. However, the tone of this letter seemed much different and the smile slowly faded from his face as he read on. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> My friend and enemy,  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I hate you and your stupid morality. You’re so fucking stubborn.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You are a fool and an idiot. Shut up! I can hear you laughing! I don’t care that those mean the same thing, maybe the repetition with finally drill it through your thick skull and make you realize how dumb you are.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You are a terrible person and I hope you realize that. Selfish. That’s what you are. Selfish. You do NOT get to stand on ANY moral high ground.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> What happened to “oh Wilbur, don’t be a coward and run from your problems. Face them head on and one day you’ll be as great as me!” Fuck you! You just disappeared because it was easy! Who is the coward now? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You’re an asshole and I hope I never see you again.   </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Oh wait, that’s what you wanted. You prick. God, I hate you.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Disappear and die for all I care. Fuck off.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The Yin to your Yang,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The heads to your tails,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Your other half,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Your- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy stopped reading. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There come moments in your life when everything stops. The world has hit pause, and everything else is frozen, but your thoughts move at the speed of light. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Someone has spun a coin on the table in front of you. Watch as the coin spins and it spins and it spins. You stare, mesmerized. Your gaze is transfixed on the simple and profound display in front of you. While it spins, you can hear nothing other than its ringing. The sound as the coin’s metal edge rotates around and around and around. One note. Played into oblivion. Do you hear a guitar or a violin? Heads or tails?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Make your choice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An eternity passes, and yet no time at all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The coin lands. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything unfreezes with the sound of a thunderclap as you look at the coin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was your choice right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy is holding the paper so hard it hurts. Breathing faster and faster and-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The storm breaks in a symphony of thunder and rain as Tommy looks up into Tubbo’s worried eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I- he- what-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo rushes over to him and takes his hands, removing the paper from them. “Breathe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy closes his eyes and does as Tubbo suggested. One moment passes. Two. Three. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He opens his eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Tubbo asks as if whispering from the end of a long tunnel. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Tommy says, finally feeling pulled back into the present. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shook his head as if to clear it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can you tell me what the letter said?” Tubbo asked, sitting down on the floor next to Tommy, who hadn’t even realized that he was now sitting against the concrete wall. “If you’re okay, that is.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. Yeah, I’m fine.” Tommy rubbed his eyes and picked up the letter again. Taking a deep breath, he read:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The Yin to your Yang,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The heads to your tails,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Your other half,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Your- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He paused and took another breath. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Your twin brother,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Wilbur Soot.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Tubbo took the sheet from him, “Wilbur doesn’t have a brother… I guess besides<em> you, </em>actually, but you didn’t-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite the situation, Tommy laughed, “no, I did not write these, Tubbo. I didn’t even know he <em>had</em> a twin. Anyway, Wilbur and I are definitely not twins.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They laughed together, tension slowly fading from Tommy’s shoulders. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy made a choice. “Tubbo… Tubbo, I think I want to figure this out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I want to know who Wilbur’s twin brother is.” Tommy sighed, “it seems like I barely knew anything about him. I thought I knew that he wouldn’t blow up L’Manberg. I evidently didn’t know him enough.” He paused, thinking. Calculating. Then, its conclusion, “I didn’t know him at all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Grabbing the letter once more, Tommy looked again at Wilbur’s valediction. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Your twin brother.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tubbo, if anyone <em> knew</em> Wilbur, it’s his twin. Maybe- maybe he has the answers as to… as to why Wilbur did what he did.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo stood and began to load the letters back into their boxes. “I’ll help. I don’t know if this is a good idea, but I’ll help,” he said, and meeting Tommy’s gaze again, continued, “if this helps you move on, then it’s worth it. We’ll uncover the truth.”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>He placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Together.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy nodded, “together.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who knew that this strong of a bond could break? Who knew that it <em> would </em> break, simply because it could not bend? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or did it bend too much?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Had this not happened once before?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But the future did not matter to the two boys. At that moment, they were partners in crime, partners in <em> solving </em>crime. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo bounced with new energy, “alrighty then! Let's pack these bitches up!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy laughed and kept laughing as the pair moved most of the letters into their ender chests, splitting them equally. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last two boxes they carried themselves all the way back to L’Manberg. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As they walked, they joked and told stories in the coming dusk. Sadness and fear played no part in their conversation that night. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They walked, blissfully unaware of what the future held. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, for now, that was okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>POG? I did not think I’d make three consecutive days honestly.<br/>In other news, the next update will probably be in a couple of days. We’ll finally start getting into the main plot so I want to make sure it’s perfect. Next chapter will again be focused on Tommy and Tubbo (also a big group chapter), but after that we’ll get a POV from someone else… hmmmmm…. who could it be?</p>
<p>Also, I did a bit of reorganizing with the notes and summaries before posting this, so I apologize if that made anything weird.</p>
<p>I am surprised how happy I am with how this chapter turned out. There are so many little writing tricks I used in this chapter to convey different tones and ideas. I wonder which ones you caught :)<br/>*slaps chapter* this bad boy can fit so much foreshadowing and important imagery in it</p>
<p>I’d love to hear what you all are thinking, so drop them theories if you have any. What happened between C and Wilbur? What foreshadowing do you think you saw?</p>
<p>Up next: there is nowhere to hide at a funeral</p>
<p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe &lt;3<br/>See you again soon, Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. there is nowhere to hide at a funeral</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The day of Wilbur and Schlatt’s funeral arrives. Tommy reads another letter. The funeral is taken as seriously as one might expect when the deceased are widely hated.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*gently hands you chapter four*<br/>isn’t it messed up that Wilbur didn’t get a funeral in canon? Yeah, I don’t disagree that the dude wasn’t the best person, but I think he still deserved a goodbye</p>
<p>*points at swearing tag with a ruler* be aware my friends.  </p>
<p>This chapter is a bit longer than the others, enjoy!<br/>Thank you for reading &lt;3<br/>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy woke up on the day of the funeral and decided to start it by reading a letter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now that the initial shock had faded, he was able to fully process exactly how many letters there were. Almost half of his enderchest’s space was filled with papers even being bundled as tightly as possible. There had to be at least a few hundred of them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he removed a letter at random, Tommy also noticed the gleam of Mellohi at the bottom of the chest. An idea came to him, and he removed the disc, placing it safely on the table. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He needed a friend. He needed a friend that would trust him and that he could trust fully. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>What better way to say that than giving someone his prized disc?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who better to guard it than his other half, Tubbo?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked at the disc once more and nodded to himself, reaffirming his decision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There wasn’t much in the embassy because Tommy hadn’t been forced to stay there in forever. With no tenant, it had fallen into disrepair. Why would he live there any longer than necessary when he had L’Manberg? And, when he hadn’t had L’Manberg, he had Pogtopia. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now he had L’Manberg back, but it was not home again yet. At least the stilts of the city had begun to form recognizable walkways and buildings. Phil had offered to be his neighbor after Tommy had called dibs on an area near the center of the floating city, which Tommy had eagerly accepted. Not because he wanted to be near his <em> almost </em> father, but because he knew that he would be able to mooch off of Philza. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You see, Phil was a worker. He decided what he wanted and would get it through great personal effort. Tommy, on the other hand, saw no reason to do the work himself if he could simply buy, steal, or convince others to do it for him. It had gotten him in some trouble in the past, but the conflicts mostly blew over fast, and, if it happened to be an important thing he stole or destroyed, he could weasel his way out of any major punishment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy grinned at the thought and sat down to read the letter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> My C,  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The arrival to the server was not uneventful.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I apologize for the lapse in letters on my part. I’ve been so busy settling in that I’ve hardly had any time to myself to write. I don’t think anyone on this server would care that I’ve been sending you letters, but I still won’t tell anyone. There’s always the risk it gets back to- well, you know the rest.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To who? Tommy wondered. Who would Wilbur be contacting that someone wouldn’t want him to? Wilbur’s an adult, who could even elicit enough fear in the man so that he would hide these?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy continued reading. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Schlatt was there too at first, you remember him, right? We had a bit of fun, and Tommy was certainly happy to see him.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy laughed with contempt. Happy to see Schlatt? Must’ve been before the election then. He paused and finally looked at the date of the note. It read only a week past when Wilbur had first arrived on the Dream SMP. Now that he had a reference of when this was happening, Tommy heard Wilbur's voice in his mind as he was reading change from his unstable tone to a rich and energetic one. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Dream was quick to boot him. Server rules, you know how it is with whitelists. He didn’t know Schlatt, and Schlatt was kinda a party crasher anyway. I don’t blame him for it, but it was fun while it lasted.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Tommy is being Tommy, no one is surprised. Oh, and Tubbo’s here. Remember that kid? I know you never directly interacted with him, but I know the reports of what he did made it back to you. I heard about the whole “assassination attempt” and thought it was quite funny.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Eret’s here too. They’re another one of those people that I know you’ve spoken to but probably forgot. Eh, they were on your side at one point, it was a humorous alliance if I’m remembering correctly, and I’m sure you’d like them if you two were to ever interact again.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> And, of course, Fundy’s here.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy raised his eyebrows and looked over the words once again. So C <em>did</em> know him. C also knew Schlatt, Tubbo, Eret, and Fundy. He tried to mentally cross-reference who knew who so that he could figure out who the connecting thread was. This was to no avail as he only grew more frustrated after coming up with absolutely no one. Tommy felt like the answer was on the tip of his tongue. Like he had even known the answer since he read the very first letter.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something in his brain clicked and everything fell into place. He <em> knew</em> who it was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He leapt up, ready to run and tell Tubbo, and… the epiphany vanished. He froze, blinking. There was no way he had just forgotten, right? But every time he tried to recreate what he had just discovered, his mind blanked. No one met all the criteria. All he could think of was Phil, and he knew that Phil was not C. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Returning to his seat, Tommy groaned in exasperation and read on. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m ashamed to say that I did not stay at first. I showed up with Schlatt and then was too terrified to actually stick around.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> I’m back now. I couldn’t leave them. </em> <strike><em> I couldn’t do what </em></strike></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Sorry about that last sentence. You can probably guess what I was going to write, but know I did not mean it. I’m sorry to even be thinking of it after all this time.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Anyway, in the end, I took a page out of your book. Proud of me? “Especially in a new environment, one should immediately make armor for themself, whether it be the physical or the more metaphysical sense. One should always have something that protects them from danger.” This can also be something that makes them useful. Useful or powerful enough that they stay out of trouble.   </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I dragged Tommy into a potion business. A drug “empire” if you will. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Oops! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Ignore the fact that we’re working out of a van. Regardless of that, it still made us a powerful force on the SMP. I honestly thought it would keep us safe as the only suppliers on the server at the time.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I forgot about supply and demand. And that EVIDENTLY if there isn’t enough supply or people are just jealous, they will try and kill you.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> They tried to stop us- Sapnap and Purpled that is. We didn’t go down without a fight. No one lost a life.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> After, in the spur of the moment, I proposed revolution to the boys. We’ve become like a bit of sand in Dream’s gears and now we either have to get him to stop turning or he will get rid of us. I know you said to avoid him at all costs, but when it’s all of us against him, he’s gotta listen.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m not going to throw away my shot to help the people here.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’ll be safe.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’ll keep Tommy safe.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’ll remember your words that a battle is not the war.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I know what you’ll tell me, and yes, I am ready to accept the burden of this. Win or lose. I’ll never be free now that we’ve started.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> But Fundy’s here. Tommy’s here. And that is enough for me. It must be.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> For them. For me. For everyone.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Even if nothing remains after I am dead, I know this is the right thing to do. No one will look at my work and despair, they will see the beginning of a great nation.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Did you appreciate the Ozymandias reference? I remember reading it together. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Don’t try and dissuade me. I’ve never felt so confident in anything in my life.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Send me some of your energy,  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Wilbur </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy returned the letter gently to his enderchest, starting a whole new pile for letters he had read through. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had no idea that Wilbur had felt so strongly about L’Manberg since before even day one. It had seemed like a joke at first even to Tommy. A few misfits? Fighting against the pseudo-god of a server? Wilbur’s old words thrummed with power and confidence that Tommy had not heard from the man in some time. This Wilbur had fought for L’Manberg and, according to this letter, Fundy and Tommy. His Wilbur had fought for-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy sighed. He had no idea what Pogtopia’s Wilbur had fought for. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He missed<em> that </em> Wilbur. The old Wilbur. The Wilbur that roused the troops with a speech against Dream. The one who had yelled ‘suck it green boi’ at the god with determined vigor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He missed Wilbur. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nope, not right now,” Tommy said, purposefully grabbing the disc and beginning the trek to the reconstructed L’Manberg. He refused to give in to grief and sadness before the funeral even started. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Tommy arrived in the decrepit area around L’Manberg, he was immediately astounded at the sheer amount of people who showed up to the funeral. Well, funerals, but no one really cared about Schlatt that much, did they?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just at first glance, he could see Punz talking with HBomb and Sam. Nearer to the city and farther from him, Tommy saw Jack, Quackity, and Fundy animatedly yelling about something that he could not hear. He also saw Tubbo speaking with Philza as they walked side by side down from the white house. Tommy does a double-take as he notices that Phil’s wings are now bandaged in a sort of sling over the man’s shoulder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, he passed Puffy, Ant, and Bad at the L’Manberg border, who all smiled sadly at him. Tommy just rolls his eyes and keeps walking. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t want pity. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s one other person he sees but chooses to ignore. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream stands watch over the scene from where the button room used to be, his mask covering his face completely. As a direct consequence of how close he had come to know Dream, Tommy had learned that the mask actually <em> betrayed </em> Dream’s emotions much more than it hid them. When it was completely off, he was truly comfortable. When it hung loosely around his neck rather than covering his face, he was relaxed but ready to go at a moment's notice. If Dream wore it at an angle where you could still see his face partially, then he was busy but not stressed about whatever the issue was. Lastly- as it was now- if the mask covered his face with nothing visible, he was serious. He only put it on in all its glory when something was very wrong or wanted to hide something important. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The creation of Church Prime. No mask. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Battle of the Lake. Dream had tilted the mask ever so slightly to the side to smile at Tommy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Disc War. The L’Manberg Revolutionary War. Both times Dream had left nothing uncovered. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was as much a piece of armor as anything else he wore into battle. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Strangely, Tommy remembered that Dream had only halfway worn the mask during the Manberg-Pogtopia War. It had been on all the way when he first visited Tommy to provide supplies, but over time it had moved to the side as if Dream was becoming more and more honest with them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>All at once, it made sense. He had become more honest. With <em> Wilbur. </em> Their goals had aligned. Dream losing the mask as an act of honesty was a sinister warning that Tommy felt he should have realized sooner. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>How had Tommy not noticed the glances that Dream would give Wilbur through the side of the mask?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Had he really not noticed what was happening to his brother?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stopped that train of thought right there by looking away from the masked man, unaware if he had been staring at him the entire time he had been thinking. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream was a wrongin and that’s it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy!” Tubbo ran to his friend. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ey, Tubbo, it’s been less than twelve hours since we saw each other last. You’re being clingy again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo laughed, “sure, Tommy. Anyway, we’re getting all set up. The service is gonna be over there,” he points at a large platform with something akin to wooden bleachers set up on it. “It’s all pretty informal. Anyone who wants to give a speech can, but there’s no structure.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Got it, Mr. President.”  Tommy said mockingly with a salute. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, hold on,” Tubbo became distracted with the yelling that had only increased in volume since Tommy had arrived, “Fundy! Jack! What’s going on now?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil and Tommy watched as Tubbo ran off sheepishly to go and speak with Jack, Fundy, and Quackity who were still shouting. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy saw a glimmer of pride in Phil’s eyes as they followed Tubbo that he tried to brush off. Phil had looked at Wilbur like that. Phil looked at <em> Tommy </em> like that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second son, who had begun to wonder whether he was actually the third son, cleared his throat, “good day for a funeral, eh?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The father’s expression was unreadable as he said, “I suppose.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy laughed awkwardly and began to leave, “good talk, good talk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Tommy.” Phil sighed, cold countenance disappearing. Tommy stopped. “I don’t mean to be this way. He was my son, it’s just hard to accept he’s gone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That they could agree on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s hard for all of us, big man.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something in Phil’s eyes broke at Tommy’s words. He said, “I know. He was your brother. Your leader as well-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wilbur was not my leader.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil gave his adoptive son an appraising look. “Uh huh. He followed <em> you </em> to war.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy opened his mouth to respond but paused. Yes, it was true that Wilbur had been the leader of L’Manberg and then Pogtopia, but Tommy had been his right-hand man. He hadn’t just followed Wilbur, they had gone together, right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He realized he needed to stop acting like he and Wilbur had been equal partners in their exploits. They hadn’t been in it together. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But weren’t they? At the start at least? Wilbur had only begun to drift away recently; Tommy thought they had been friends once. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Had Wilbur always been this way and Tommy had simply failed to notice it?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Phil?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil stared at him, “yes?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy faltered. His father waited patiently. Now was a good time to ask as any other. He took a breath, “did Wilbur ever-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The question was interrupted when Quackity, who had by now stopped arguing with the other cabinet members, began tapping on the microphone on the main stage. This action started a feedback loop that ended in a loud, high-pitched squeal being projected throughout L’Manberg and probably the main Dream SMP as well. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil cringed and covered his ears, Tommy simply flinched. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Testing- testing… one, two, three. Can y'all hear me? Good. Could we get everyone here for the funerals to come over to this platform to be seated? Let’s say goodbye to these mother-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“LANGUAGE!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jesus, Bad, I hadn’t even said anything yet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil shrugged at Tommy apologetically and mouthed, “later?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy nodded and followed him to the platform Quackity had been talking about. There was always time to confront one’s father about a secret sibling that you had no idea existed until your other sibling died. Yeah, totally. He could wait. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As they arrived they saw Quackity look pointedly at Badboyhalo and say very seriously, “okay, we’re here to say goodbye to these two lovely, upright gentlemen who have never done anything wrong in their lives ever.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy snickered; he could feel the barely restrained rage rolling off of Bad as he heard the man sigh and take his seat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everyone slowly filed into the seats and sat rigidly waiting for someone else to start the procession. Tommy met Tubbo’s eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fellas?” Quackity was at the mic again, grinning, “fellas, can we get a cheer? A big hoo-rah? That wicked bitch is finally fucking dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a whoop from Fundy and some reluctant claps from the other audience members. Tommy heard a quiet “language” from Bad and tried to cover a laugh. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quackity was pushed away from the mic by Tubbo as he took it instead and said, “okay, okay, I know we all didn’t like him, but let’s have some class, alright? Alright? This is a funeral after all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo cleared his throat and continued, “we are gathered here today-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy heard Punz murmur to someone, “what is this, a wedding?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We are gathered here today,” Tubbo repeated forcefully, “to <em> celebrate </em> the lives of J. Schlatt and Wilbur Soot, who passed away just a few days ago in the rebellion.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hear, hear.”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Good riddance.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was clear that no one was taking this seriously. Phil’s wings seemed to tense even through their wrappings and Tommy could see his jaw clench. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turned to Tommy and whispered, “you really didn’t like this Schlatt fellow, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He was- quite frankly- a dick.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil snorted, “good to know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Would anyone like to say anything?” Tubbo stepped aside and motioned to the now-empty mic. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quackity grabbed it again and got in, “see you in hell,” before Badboyhalo ended up being the one to shove him aside this time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tried to grab everyone’s attention, “okay, guys, we’re gonna start now. Settle down. We are gathered here today-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Togay.”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Togay!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Isn’t he just repeating what Tubbo already said?”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“Togay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bad sighed, “<em>today. </em> In honor of our former Presidents who are now dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Woo!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The apparent-demon facepalmed. “Can we please, <em> please, </em> have a moment of silence for the both of them as some ounce of respect?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Amen,” Fundy said with a pious nod. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everyone started talking or joking amongst themselves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quackity, who had joined the audience, shouted, “CAN I STEAL JSCHLATT’S BONES, BADBOYHALO?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ll get the opportunity, whatever. I don’t care anymore.” Bad motioned to the coffin which was sitting at their left side. “This is what was left of him. I give up.” Bad left the stage with a resigned crossing of his arms.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Quackity and a few others rushed over to the coffin and opened it, making off-color jokes as they ransacked the burial. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy sighed, but smiled, “I don’t know what I expected, but this, this is pretty on point.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” Phil watched the chaos, “there is absolutely no respect for the dead in this group.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not when one of the dead men is an arsehole, no.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wilbur’s coffin sat unattended on the right side of the stage. Phil was glad at least that his son’s final peace had not been disturbed by the unbridled havoc that was currently happening to Schlatt’s remains.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The funeral looked like it was over as Punz pulled a cigar from Schlatt's vest and Tubbo was wielding his bones like drumsticks. Mostly everyone else was cheering at the coffin while Puffy comforted Bad on the sidelines. Phil and Tommy were still glued to their seats. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Want to say goodbye to the terrorist?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil smiled and said instead, “I’ll say goodbye to my son.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The pair avoided the pandemonium around Schlatt’s coffin and stood beside Wilbur’s. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You want to say a few words?” Phil asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh,” Tommy began, “sure. So- hey Wilbur. Uh, I hope old you is doing well, chilling in the afterlife or whatever. New you- the one from the end of your life- hope you’re rotting in hell.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil frowned but did not speak. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a lapse in any conversation while they both stood there, listening to the ambient background yells from whatever was happening at the other coffin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy watched as Phil slowly placed a hand onto Wilbur’s coffin and said, “I’ll miss you and… and I’m sorry. For everything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tears shone in Phil’s eyes but disappeared as soon as Tubbo appeared over Tommy’s shoulders and said happily, “Quackity’s going to eat Schlatt’s heart, wanna see?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Phil exclaimed as Tommy laughed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo grabbed Phil’s hand and pulled him over to the other group who were chanting at Quackity who was holding the bloody heart up like a trophy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy looked back at the stands and saw someone leaving. He considered looking the other way, but instead said, “Tubbo, I’ll be with you in a moment.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His friend’s eyes widened in surprise, but he shrugged. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A flash of lime green disappears over the hill. A flash of red and white follows him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oi! Dream!” Tommy shouted, running to catch up with the masked man, “where are you off to in such a hurry?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream turned around, mask still creepily covering his entire face. His posture was taut and, if Tommy didn’t know better, he’d say that Dream was ready for battle. However, Tommy did know him, and it meant that he was either stressed out of his mind or actually about to fight someone. He went with the former. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I made an appearance. I assumed my company wasn’t wanted for much longer.” Dream’s response was quick and to the point, another sign that he was busy and wanted no part of whatever Tommy was fishing for. Dream turned to leave; Tommy pushed his luck. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re right. No one really wants you around after what you did to Wilbur and L’Manberg.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oddly enough it was the first claim that caused Dream to whip around. His voice came out cold, with the hissing intonation of a cut pipe, “What I did to <em> Wilbur?  </em>I <em> helped </em> him. No one else was on his side, I gave him everything he wanted.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pretty fucked up if you ask me, Dream. Preying on the desires of an unstable individual.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream stepped forward until the mask was inches from Tommy’s face, who did not react. “Stay out of it. You knew nothing. You were <em> afraid. </em> I was more of a friend to Wilbur than you ever were.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stood at a menacing standstill until Dream relaxed slightly and took a step backward. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.” Dream threw an enderpearl into the woods over his shoulder before Tommy could even ask where he was going and disappeared. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy shook his head at himself, “you’re falling off your groove, big man, letting Dream get to you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turned to head back to L’Manberg but let his eyes wander to the forest where Dream had teleported to. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where was he going? There was nothing out that way other than Pogtopia. He wanted to follow the admin but knew Dream was already too far. Moreover, he was <em> Dream, </em>manhunt man extraordinaire, Tommy wasn’t going to track him down alone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy hummed and grudgingly walked back to the stage to join the frenzied crowd watching Quackity.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I got this chapter done way faster than I thought I would, so... good for me, I guess?<br/>Hamilton + Ozymandias refences in this chapter. By the way, the interactions for the dual funeral of this fic are inspired by the real events and lines from Schlatt's canon funeral. </p>
<p>Next update soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe in two days? Three? I don’t know? This next chapter is gonna take some extra work on my part to get it to where I want it appearance wise, but it’s gonna be great. </p>
<p>I’ve been excited to write this coming interaction since I first had the idea for it. I’m a sucker for very powerful people having a nuanced, threatening conversation without being able to say or do anything directly. Hmmm…<br/>As you can probably tell, different character focus in the next chapter. We’ll get to see someone again and someone for the first time. Who could they be? </p>
<p>As always, comments make my day, so if you feel comfortable, talk to me! Theories warm my own over-analyzing heart if you have any. I’ll try and respond (if you’d rather I just see your comment and ignore it, add a little /whisper at the beginning and I will not interact with it)</p>
<p>If you’re new here, hello! Enjoy the ride and please keep your arms, legs, and any other extraterrestrial limbs in the cart at all times.</p>
<p>Next chapter: leave before they get back</p>
<p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe &lt;3<br/>Glowing regards, Tuli<br/>(any reference getters? lol)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. leave before they get back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream generously welcomes a new arrival to the SMP. This arrival purposefully lies to Dream and unknowingly lies to himself.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A fun chapter for you today! And it's the longest so far!<br/>I promise we’ll get to the angst and eventual comfort, there’s just a lot of set-up first :D<br/>(nvm, there’s a little angst at the end)<br/>I tried to be as clear as possible with a mechanic you’ll see in this chapter, but if anything is confusing feel free to question me about it in the comments<br/>(it’s the first thing that happens, you’ll know what I’m talking about immediately)<br/>&lt;3<br/>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> POG, we’re finally on the- Technolost- L- guys, he’s only been here for- Technolate- E- E- E- talk to Tommy about- E- loser showing up after- LEFT- it was SO boring without- he’s baaaack- king shit- E- E- what are they doing over- he’s not back- E- have you eaten yet- E- I had a test- GO LEFT- never been here- does anyone know what- not helpful, idiot- wait, why are we- he’s ALIVE???- this is new- E- I miss- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Chat, literally nothin’ you’re sayin’ is even remotely helpful or relevant.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Then that means- E- I’m in love with an- we don’t care, nerd- E- E- left isn’t a valid- go get that clout- Dream!- Dream!- E- is he here?- I want to say thank- CALL DREAM- go look at ground zero because- Dream!- DREAM- if y’all are just shouting his name again I swear to- E- green boi- get baited, nerds- can we try to focus on- E- E- get a dog and name- I don’t want to be- Technolost- then they leave- don’t care anyway- DREAM- </em> <b> <em>Pogtopia’s in a ravine beneath a forest, get Dre to show you.</em> </b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you,” Technoblade sighed, rubbing his temples. As much as he didn’t want Chat to be right, Dream probably was his best bet for actually getting anywhere.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been a few weeks since he had spoken to Chat and they hadn’t taken the break well. He tuned out the clamorous whispers again as he kept walking through the calm forest. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His attention wandered, lazily taking in the new surroundings. It was very easy to zone out and just let the world flow around him, but this was a new environment, one in which he did not want to get caught unaware. Thus, Techno found himself stuck between wanting to melt into complacency and wanting to constantly scope out the area for any dangers. One hoofed foot after the other, he moved silently- as any predator would- between the trees. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chat’s extreme, child-like energy wasn’t helping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno had led a few others to believe that Chat’s voices were ever-present, which wasn’t exactly a false statement, but it wasn’t wholly true either. Although, he did have control over them partially, enough that when he really didn’t want to hear about whatever niche topic they had fixated on he could simply push them to the back of his mind. It wasn’t silence, per se, but the voices sounded more like static than anything intelligible. It was a quiet whistling that Techno could almost pretend was the wind. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, this didn’t always work. If he was doing anything important or something that especially interested them, they could simply force themselves to be heard, but they were usually content to be chill when he wanted them to be. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The voices were loud, quiet, angry, peace-keeping, lonely, extroverted, benevolent, violent, sad, happy, excitable, relaxed, and many other perfect paradoxes. Most times listening to them was like trying to understand a broken record that changed music genres every few seconds. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was as if he was trying to have a conversation with hundreds- or even thousands- of people who were spinning rapidly on a giant merry-go-round. He could only catch snippets of whatever they were trying to say, and usually what he <em> did</em> hear didn’t even make sense. It certainly sounded like Chat were on some sort of carnival ride with how much fun they always seemed to be having. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Every once and a while one voice would come through louder than all the others and he could make out exactly what they wanted to say. He couldn’t explain it, their voice would just have more <em> presence</em> than all the others. Those voices even sometimes told him their names. He appreciated the ones who used this ability to tell him important things, like the one who had just told him to wait for Dream. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Some voices even seemed to hold a position of power or respect because they could sometimes get the others to do something for him, like stop shouting a specific word. Once he learned this, it became a matter of appeasing the powerful voices when he wanted something done. He could usually tell which ones had power because they would sound colder than the rest and a little louder. They always maintained absolute objectivity and appeared to care more about order than anything else, which was a contradiction of itself because no one would ever call the voices “ordered.” They were moderate themselves and helped keep the others moderated, so Techno had come to refer to them as Moderators. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The name Chat on the other hand? He had absolutely no idea where it came from; they had been the ones to tell <em> him</em> it. He thought they just liked the name, and it made sense as all they did was “chat.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been easier when he had been younger. There used to be fewer voices; It was quieter then. It had been nice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, Technoblade had made his peace with them a long time ago. Like everything else in his life, the voices had their costs and benefits. He liked always having Chat watch his back with their strange 4th-dimensional knowledge that he didn’t know the origin of because they would never give him a straight answer when he asked. They knew things they really shouldn’t, and he was content to leave it at that as long as they helped him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the other hand, Techno did not like how easy it was to get caught up in their desires. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was that palpable, violent passion that oozed through his entire being, infecting his very consciousness, when they let loose that scared him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Technoblade considered himself a logical person, free from the shackles of excess emotions and sentimentality. But when he was pulled into the maelstrom of Chat’s emotions? Techno became a vessel of pure impulse and incredible power, two things that weren’t great in combination. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t surprise him that he often regretted what he did when like this. Sometimes it was freeing and glorious to see the carnage in his wake. Other times… it was like waking up with shards of glass in your hands from the expensive vase you broke while sleepwalking. While not even knowing how or when you did what you did, you had to remove the glass, clean your hands of the blood, and finally apologize for breaking the vase. Techno found this last step the most difficult. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was painful and exhausting. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Over and over and over again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he had removed the possibility. Can’t hurt people if there are no people <em> to</em> hurt. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><b> <em>Say hi to Dream for me! He’s almost here.</em> </b> <em> Yooo- POG- green man!- he’s not even that- DREAM- DREAM- Dream!- DREAM- DREAM- what are you all doing now- honestly, you should just- DREAM- can we get- POGGERS- hey, guys, maybe we should ease- just kill him- YES- you all know that he’s literally- fight!- fight!- IT'S HE- guys, this isn’t going to- FIGHT- fight- </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno stopped them right there, flipping a long, pink braid over his shoulder. After Chat had found out that Dream would be meeting him later in the day, they had been decidedly obsessed with the man all morning. He had even considered asking the Moderators to punish the use of the admin’s name to get them to shut up but eventually settled on just ignoring them instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, true to their word, Techno could hear the tell-tale blip of an enderpearl landing behind him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hello, Technoblade.” Dream’s voice was unnaturally smooth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno expected that he would turn around and see Dream doing some sort of power move like leaning against a tree or lurking in the shadows, but Techno wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He didn’t even want to look at the admin, so he just kept moving. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Walk and talk, Dream.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the lack of response and desperate noises behind him, he knew that Dream <em> had</em> been planning some sort of cool appearance. Realizing that he had probably ruined the admin’s day by thwarting his little entrance made Techno smile. So the masked man had been trying to seem more powerful than he was, meaning that this server was not as tightly under his thumb as he wanted it to be. Techno could use that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pushed <em> that</em> thought as far back into the depths of his mind as it had come from. Seizing control of the server- or even removing it from Dream- was not Technoblade’s plan. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t want to be here in the first place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Definitely not. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did not want to stay either, but that was out of his hands. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream came by his side, his emotionless smiley mask covering his face entirely. “So, Techno. Welcome to my server, we can go on a tour if you’d like or-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The admin paused again but pretty quickly started walking when he saw that Techno did not stop for him. Techno had to bite his tongue to keep himself from smiling and giving it away. Dream was used to fear, respect, awe, or even a well-deserved amount of caution; Techno responded with none of that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>All the stress he would ever have concerning the speedrunner had been used up in their duel from a couple of months ago. Had it even been that long? Regardless, Techno didn’t care. He was wary of the admin, sure, he wasn’t stupid, but Techno wasn’t going to let Dream <em> know</em> that. That’s a weakness that could be exploited. Plus, it's hard to be scared of someone when you’re laughing at them instead.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno knew he could beat Dream if it came down to it. He had done it before and he’d do it again if necessary. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No?” Dream asked, but there was an edge to his voice that made Techno’s brain shift into overdrive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno finally risked a glance at his rival. Outwardly, Dream seemed relaxed, but Techno also saw the care with which he moved and heard the confident, watchful, and dangerous undertones in his words. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, I appreciate you lettin’ me visit and all, but I’m not staying. Not for long. I just want to drop by Pogtopia to say goodbye to Wilbur and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Techno spoke respectfully, letting no actual urgency seep into his tone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You two were close?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno shrugged, “I knew him. My arrival here wasn’t supposed to line up with anythin’ though. I got unlucky. Not that I don’t feel sorry for the guy, I do. It’s just that the purpose of my trip had been to meet up with you actually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh?” That comment seemed to catch Dream off guard, “what was it you wanted?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just a tour of the server, maybe to meet some of the… <em> residents</em> here, say hello to some old friends.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream’s mask turned to him and Techno could guess that the man’s eyebrows were raised behind it. “We can still do that, I just offered. Wait,” Dream tilted his head, “you weren’t at the funeral.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The warrior shook his head, “nah, not for me. There were a few people there I’d rather avoid. At this point I just want to go back home.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re always welcome to stick around, we could use a guy like you to-”<br/><br/></p>
<p>Techno actually laughed, “yeah, I don’t think so.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream paused and made a resigned gesture, “okay, okay, but it’d be nice to work together for once. I could use some help keeping everything in line.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Every- <em>thing? </em> ” Techno ventured a question, “don’t you mean every- <em>one? </em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The admin didn’t answer right away and Techno knew he had struck a nerve. Then, emotionlessly, “I have the interests of the SMP in mind. If controlling the people here is what that takes then that’s what I’ll do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I understand,” Techno eased back into the dangerous truce neither wanted to be the first to break. “It was just a comment. But don’t you go thinking that I don’t know anything about how tyrants rule.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream snorted, “last time we spoke- when I invited you here actually- you claimed to be an anarchist.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I <em> am</em> an anarchist. I was just raised to be a king.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“An emperor actually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now it was Techno’s turn to pause. He had felt good- <em> safe- </em> throughout the entire conversation because <em>he</em> had been the one in control, and with that simple line, Dream had turned it on its head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Techno huffed and began walking again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pogtopia is that way, Techno.” Dream pointed the opposite way that Techno was going. The tension broke as Techno felt his face go red under his mask and thanked the stars he wore it. Inversely, he could imagine Dream grinning under his own. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right.” Techno turned and walked briskly the way Dream had pointed. At least Dream had enough tact not to say anything else on the matter and instead just follow after him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of their walk was relatively quiet except for a few trivial comments about the weather. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Scary green man- BLOOD FOR THE- can we ever just have a- E- E- E- aaaand they’re back to- E- how did Dream know- BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD- <b>you should stay, Techno.</b> E- oh, shut up- just a normal day with a- E- E- wow he’s soooo scary, bruh- SHAKY BRUH- what even is going- CLOUT- E- CLOUT- clout- we could always kill- yes! Let’s stab- NO-</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s over here,” Dream said finally, leading Techno over to an opening on the side of a small hill.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wow, he really was livin’ out of a hole in the ground.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream laughed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rivals descended the unfinished stairs together, coming into the main area of Pogtopia that somehow looked worse than it had only a few days ago when Tommy had been there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dust had taken its place as warden of the abandoned commune, and the walls had already become a museum for spider webs and mold. Techno couldn’t help himself from coughing in the musty air. He waved his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to clear the air he breathed of grime and perhaps the memories associated with it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Soot floated through the cave- it was fitting in a way- even though the fires of the cave were no longer lit. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, what’s your plan?” Dream asked, appearing uninterested, but Techno could tell that something important hinged on his next words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He opted for a misdirect, “well, I was thinkin’ first about adding some railings.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Laughing, Dream continued, “but, seriously, Techno. Do you need anything? Can I stick around to help you with whatever you’re doing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno saw through the question to its true intent. <em> Can I stick around?</em> He was hesitant to say the truth of no, absolutely not, because he assumed that the blatant refusal would only make the admin more suspicious.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Doesn’t really matter to me,” he shrugged, walking over to one of the chests and searching through it, “but I think I’d prefer to be alone at some point to say a final goodbye.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream nodded in assent. “Understandable.” The admin peeked his head into the empty farm and then returned to Techno. Out of nowhere, he asked, “you wouldn’t happen to know who Wilbur might’ve been sending letters to these past few months, would you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno felt like he had been punched in the gut as he stood there frozen and breathless. The question was so unexpected that it took a few seconds for him to even process the words he had just heard. “Wha- wait, letters?” He tried to recover, “why would anyone bother with letters when they can just message on a communicator?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The mask just looked at him, and Techno assumed that under it Dream was watching him very carefully. Searching for something. Dream eventually turned away and continued, “maybe they just liked the aesthetic of written works, maybe they were trying to hide something, I don’t know. But I do know that anything and everything that leaves or enters my server is my business, which happened to be almost daily letters to and from Wilbur.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, man, can’t help you there. I barely knew the guy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course. I forget you didn’t come here for <em> Wilbur.</em> I’m sorry to have brought you in on my little… <em> problem. </em>” Dream didn’t sound sorry at all. “Well, if you don’t need anything else. I’ll just head out. You can always send me a message with your communicator.” Techno felt the pressure of Dream’s questioning gaze begin to fade.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bye, Dream,” Techno had been about to return to searching through the chests when instead he stood and turned to the admin. “Wait, there was one more thing. Is there anywhere I can set up a base where there would be no one else around? I’m a bit of a recluse.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The mask once again faced Techno, “sure.” Dream pointed in a direction, “I know general directions don't really help now, but there’s an ocean you can cross if you go that way that leads to a snow biome that no one has settled in as far as I know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks, I’ll head there, so you’ll know where to find me if you need me.” Techno said, “I can’t go back to another server for a few weeks at least. I had planned on stayin’ longer before I arrived, so now it's gonna take awhile to get an exit portal.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah.” Dream nodded slowly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno took a steadying breath, “Hey, Dream?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Leave Phil and Tommy out of whatever machinations you’ve got brewin’, would ya?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream’s next words were amused and threatening, any previous desire to hide his intentions gone, “I don’t see why that’s any of your business, <em> Techno.</em>” And suddenly the dangerous tone vanished, and Dream’s voice was cheerful again, “goodbye! I hope your voluntary exile to the arctic is enjoyable.” He turned to leave and then said over his shoulder, “oh, and Techno?” The sweet, menacing tone returned, “one more thing.” Techno felt ice settle in his bones. “When you want to leave you’ll need to come see me, all travel off and onto this server has to be approved personally.” Technoblade could hear the pleased satisfaction in Dream’s voice as he waved and said, “be seeing you around, Techno.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno waited till he knew Dream was gone and then said to Chat, “God, I hate that guy. Why does he sound like every textbook super villain ever? Man gets one taste of power and goes off the rails.” He laughed to himself and muttered, “that’s why we gotta get railings.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> F- very good joke sir- LMAO- green man thinks he can- E- E- take the L, Dream- suck it greeeen boiiiiii- LOL- stop quoting- what an- E- E- E- E- can you yell at- and they’re back to e-ing- E- do you think we can go a whole- L- bye green man- dream ON, Dream- LMAO- be careful, Techno- E- E- E- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least Chat was on his side. “Alright, now that Dream’s not here I can finally get to-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Are you going to settle down in the arctic for a while?</em> </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh… yeah, I think so. I just need to grab something of Wilbur’s before I leave.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno began searching the walls for a very specific button. Finding himself in the same place as Tubbo had, he pressed the peculiar stone that opened the piston door once again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Upon seeing the empty room, he let out a sigh of relief. “He burned them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> E- what did he- help- burn?- PYRO- E- E- talking about- Technosecret- aww they’re so- why burn?- huhhh?- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just ignore that, Chat.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno exited the small hidden room and closed it one last time. Wilbur’s secret would die right there because as far as Techno knew, no one else would ever need to know about the letters. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> We’re bored- yeah!- E- E- E- are we there yet- trip time- Technotravel- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hold on a minute. One more thing, guys.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Next, Techno turned to Wilbur’s room, which had also been emptied, gently testing the walls for any false stones. Eventually, he noticed a corner that was made of gravel rather than stone and began to peel away the rocks. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Behind the fake wall was a small crawl space that was mostly empty excluding a wooden box covered in intricate carvings and a stack of letters. Techno gently removed the box and grabbed the letters with care, making sure that none were bent, bumped, or otherwise harmed in the process. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He considered the letters first. Each one was written in his own hand, though none of them contained his name. One he noticed had no address but instead, read <em> “Musings on the Cold.” </em> He smiled. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe it was regret, maybe just nostalgia, but Techno found himself sitting on the bare floor and re-reading. He devoured all of the old words, remembering all the good or bad times that had come with each. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>While laughing along with his own dumb jokes, he hoped they had brought Wilbur the same amount of joy. When he read one of his more serious letters, he finally realized that Wilbur had kept these letters separate. <em> These </em> had been the important ones. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At first, this realization was a happy one. Techno thought it was an honor that Wilbur had taken such an interest in his unembellished reflections. But as time went on, as Techno read more and more of the kept letters, his smile disappeared. There was a pattern here. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The letters that Wilbur had kept weren’t usually the fun ones. They weren’t the ones that Techno had spent hours working on, trying to make sure every joke and one-liner were crafted to perfection. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, these letters were the unfiltered sludge that he had spat forth when upset. These were letters of rage, of agony, of pure mental turmoil. These were letters of isolation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t want to read anymore. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno shook his head over and over again while moving away from the letters like they were poisonous snakes. Backing up, he ran into the wall of the room and stopped for a minute, breathing in and out slowly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Techno? Techno? Techno? Techno? </em> <b> <em>Techno? Are you alright?</em> </b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He ignored Chat and the pile of letters still sitting in the middle of the room and instead focused on the other item he had removed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Picking up the box, the warrior ran his calloused fingers over its carvings, taking them in not only with his eyes but also with touch. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was so familiar, yet also completely new. He had done the same thing with an almost identical box only days ago. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His own box had the same exact engravings, only they were the reverse as these. Techno held the box close to his chest, pressing it into his sternum like he was trying to replace his own heart. He stood against the wall behind him to steady himself and sighed, staring at the plain ceiling. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I miss you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was only silence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nothing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not even Chat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-” Techno’s voice broke. “Wilbur, I-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno had been about to set the box back down but heard a small noise from inside it as he moved it from his chest. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wha-” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The lid of the box opened and a single letter floated out onto the floor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The box itself fell from Techno’s hand and hit the stone with a deafening crack. It was broken now, beyond repair, never to be used again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yet Techno didn’t even look at the box, his heart was only interested in that unassuming white rectangle sitting in front of him. Everything else blurred as he unconsciously rushed forward and gripped the letter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Its seal was unbroken. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.” Techno felt himself back into the corner again, “no, no, no. It can’t- NO.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His own writing glared back at him as he slumped to the floor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Wilbur, please read this. PLEASE, Wilbur! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He set down the letter and attempted to curl further into himself. Techno didn’t need to read this letter to remember what it said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t <em> want</em> to remember. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Blade brought his knees to his chest, his hooves with them, and put his head into his hands. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The room seemed so big right then and he was so, so small. He wanted to become even smaller, to become so tiny that he would simply disappear and never see that letter again. The walls pressed in but not enough. Not enough to make him feel safe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nothing mattered so much as that letter. That letter meant nothing. It meant the world to him. It was <em>everything.</em> It was <em>nothing.</em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he sat there covering his face, he felt his hands start shaking and his breathing become ragged. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That little sheet of paper was a knife, and if he were to open it he was <em> sure</em> that he wouldn’t get a paper cut but rather would bleed out onto the stone- as Wilbur had. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear, does it make a sound? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If an emotionless warrior cries in a ravine and there’s no one around to see, who can tell what really happened?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who would know that he sat there for hours even after the tears stopped falling, just staring at that damned piece of paper?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who would hear all the words that passed his lips far too late?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who would feel sorry for him?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The answer is no one. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not a single soul.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am over the moon that over a thousand people have even taken a passing glance at my work. So, thank you, thank you all, for supporting this story &lt;3</p>
<p>Would y’all be interested in getting some one-shots from this universe? Perhaps of some of the history and other lore stuff that might not make it into the main piece?</p>
<p>Anyway, can you tell that I like writing Techno and Dream? Yeah, this became much longer than it was supposed to be but it is what it is, I’m not unhappy that it’s trailed on this long tbh. The characters do what they want and I just translate it onto paper. I also had so much fun writing my own rendition of Chat. I tried to capture the mess it is to try and read anything from Chat when he's streaming; you get through a few words and... oops, it's gone now. Also, To quote a reaction channel I sometimes watch, Techno really does sound like he’s allergic to “g”s.<br/>I promise that this chapter started out as a haha-funny meme chapter. It wasn’t supposed to end this way, but I hope you appreciated the first bit of sadness nonetheless.</p>
<p>Kudos, bookmarks, and comments especially are always appreciated. If you have any questions or concerns also feel free to ask them in the comments, I am always excited to explain my writing if it’s not a spoiler :D</p>
<p>What’s up with that box Techno found? Why might Wilbur have kept some letters separate? What is Techno really doing on the SMP? Most of you guessed correctly who C was, but there are still many questions to be answered...</p>
<p>Up next: (we return to L’Manberg)<br/>nobody tells you that you’re not alone after a funeral</p>
<p>Teaser summary of the next chapter: Niki and Phil are sad. Tommy almost makes a very big mistake. Another letter is read.</p>
<p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe &lt;3<br/>Best, Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. nobody tells you that you're not alone after a funeral</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Phil attempts to offer guidance to Niki, Tubbo prevents an accidental betrayal, Tommy thinks someone is sus, and the letters once again raise more questions than they answer.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapta’ six, here we go, folks.<br/>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the fiasco that was Quackity deciding cannibalism was the answer to his problems, the funeral attendees split into smaller groups to plan for the rest of the day or just to talk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quackity, Fundy, HBomb, and Jack went off together talking about demonic possession and other jokes about Quackity’s newfound taste for blood. Meanwhile, Puffy, Sam, Ant, and Bad had said their goodbyes and left walking back toward the main area of the SMP. Dream, to Tommy's consternation, hadn’t reappeared and was still doing who knows what in the woods. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo was also nowhere to be seen, so Tommy found himself sitting alone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even Phil had wandered off somewhere around the time that Quackity had actually started to eat the tyrant’s heart. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ughhhhh, this is so boring!” Tommy expressed his frustration to the empty air. A bird chirped at him in response. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah.” He stood. “Fine, I’ll go find someone else to bother.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a good day. The sun was shining down on the hopeful country and wispy clouds hung high up in the sky like the delicate brushstrokes of an experienced painter. No rain fell for the funeral, so no water had christened the new boards of L’Manberg from weather or from tears. The closest Tommy had seen anyone get to actually grieving was seeing Phil’s eyes water when they had stood over Wilbur’s coffin together. He wasn't sure what to think about that. Did it mean something that no one mourned either death?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy placed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and began to walk around the recovering L’Manberg. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The city’s roots were set, namely the large platforms over the crater had been finished and construction was starting on the higher floors. Barrels had been placed around the city full of different materials that Tommy assumed would be used to decorate the city. He saw banners, looms, and many different dyes that reminded him of the supplies Tubbo had accumulated when he had been tasked with running the Red Festival by Schlatt. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sighing, Tommy hoped that these decorations would be used for their intended purpose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he walked around the heights of L’Manberg, he saw where Quackity and Fundy had ended up. The pair were working on their respective properties while also arguing about something. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t you dare!” The fox-hybrid held a few planks of wood protectively. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quackity’s face appeared in an empty window from his house, “you were the one who built on mine first!”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s going on?” Tommy yelled up to them, cupping his hands around his mouth to try and project his voice better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Both immediately turned their heads to look at him and Tommy flinched under their angry glares. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fundy pointed an accusatory finger at Quackity, “he’s<em> ruining</em> my real-estate value!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He deserves it!” Quackity retorted, picking up a hammer and violently nailing two planks together. <em> Thunk. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Thunk. </em> Another nail. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop it!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quackity raised the hammer again with a spiteful smile. <em> Thunk. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If your house blocks my view, I will burn it to the ground, Quackity!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy slowly backed away, deciding to stay out of whatever conflict the others had stirred up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Coming down the stairs that led him to the main platform, he realized that the view from the heights really was spectacular. He would have to consider moving here himself, but then he couldn’t annoy Phil as much. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Speaking of the man, Tommy finally saw where he had gone off to. Two figures were sitting in the shade under the distant L’Mantree, one of which was easily recognizable as Phil because of the large grey wings behind him. The other figure was harder for Tommy to decipher. However, based on the golden hair and colorful sweater, he could guess that it was probably Niki. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took a few seconds for Tommy to remember that she had not been at the funeral, but when he did he couldn’t help wondering why. She had been as close to Wilbur as he had been, so it seemed strange that she would have avoided saying goodbye. Tommy settled on joining them under the tree. On the way, Tommy realized that Niki probably <em> did </em> avoid the funeral to avoid having to say goodbye. Repression and denial are ways of dealing with grief, not necessarily good ones, but methods nonetheless. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Getting over to the grassy piece of land where the tree sat was proving rather difficult and, in the end, Tommy had to approach it from the back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could hear their conversation before they could see him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I know what you mean.” Phil was saying, “I know I was his father and not- you know- a <em> friend,</em> but I still understand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It just went by so quickly.” Niki said, picking at the grass next to her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil breathed a light laugh, “it did. I never thought of it that way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He was right there, and then L’Manberg was gone, and then <em> you</em> were there…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, I had just showed up and he gave me this whole speech about the state of his country and how bad everything was when I’d thought he’d just gotten it back. I didn’t know what to do- he’s looking at this button like- like- I don’t even know. And then he’s there, begging me to kill him, and I-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil turned his head slightly to the side and finally noticed Tommy walking up to them, “oh... hey, Tommy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Niki’s stormy eyes turned to him as well and he saw they were slightly red as if she had been crying, but there were no tears in them now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hello, Tommy.” A slight smile tugged at the edge of Niki’s mouth, but it came off forced. She was trying so hard to seem happy and okay externally, but no amount of acting could bring back the light to her eyes. It was eerie to see. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh, hey, guys.” Tommy plopped down onto the grass next to Philza so that he and Niki were on opposite sides of the man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil turned to him fully, “we were just talking about Wilbur. What we remembered, what we missed-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, I don’t miss anything,” Tommy said bitterly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Dude was a right bastard and deserved to die.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Niki tensed and Phil’s face softened, his voice trailing off paternally, “Tommy…” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think I should go,” Niki said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil pivoted to face her, “Niki, wait. Stay-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” the woman stood, brushing off her pants, “I’ll see you around, Philza. Thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil sighed and said sympathetically, “it’s going to be okay. If you need someone to talk to I’m here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Niki nodded at him and gave a small wave to Tommy as she left. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil faced Tommy with a frown. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know what.” Phil said, then shook his head. “Tommy, you’re going to need to address your feelings at some point.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What feelings are there to address? Wilbur’s gone, he’s dead, now let’s get on with our lives.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil mentally assessed his response and waited. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy stubbornly refused to say anything else, opting instead to become particularly interested in the grass. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If Tommy <em> was </em> struggling with Wilbur’s death- and he wasn’t, he <em> wasn’t- </em> Phil wouldn’t have been the person he confided in. He wasn’t sure what to think about his father because every time Tommy looked at him all he could see was Phil stabbing Wilbur with a sword. Years of affection had been replaced with one memory of pain. Was that really all it took to break a relationship? Why was it so easy for beautiful things to become tainted?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wind blew through the L’Mantree in a quiet hush; it seemed much too calming for the tension between the two remaining family members underneath it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, after what felt like years, Phil began, “so, what was it you were trying to ask me before the funeral?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy looked up at him from the ground and took another steadying breath. It felt like this moment required its own prelude. Quickly, like he was ripping off a bandaid, Tommy asked, “did Wilbur have a twin?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil blinked at him for a few seconds and then started laughing. It was a hearty, full laugh that made Tommy think that either Philza was the greatest liar in the world or he truly had no idea what Tommy was asking about. Tommy wasn't sure which option he preferred. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His next words suggested the second, “absolutely not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you sure?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy’s father laughed again, “yeah, I’m sure. I think I’d know if I had another kid. Where did you get that idea?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, Tubbo and I found-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy felt a hand on his shoulder. “-Someone who looks exactly like him!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy yelped and shouted, “jeeze, Tubbo! You can’t scare people like that!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The president of L’Manberg smiled and sat next to Tommy. “I know, but it was funny.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was not!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil glanced at Tubbo conspiratorially, “it <em> was </em> pretty funny.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I hate you. I hate you both.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo leaned against him, “no you don’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy didn’t respond. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you giving him the silent treatment, Tommy?” Phil questioned with a laugh. “Very mature.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tried to convey his unadulterated hatred through a glare that could melt steel but was met only with more laughter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Philza then stood, smiling, “I should be going. I promised Jack I’d help him with a build. But,” he pointed between the two boys, “if you get into any trouble, call me. Also, if you see that Wilbur doppelganger, let me know. I’d like to see the person you think looks like my son.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, sir, Philza Minecraft.” Tubbo nods officially. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man laughs and leaves with a final look at Tommy, who could not fathom what it was supposed to mean. Did Phil want something from him? The look had been of interest though, not interrogation. Had it been pity? What if it was it about the question he had asked Phil? Did Phil know more than he let on?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy turned abruptly to Tubbo, “wait, why did you stop me from telling Phil about the letters, surely he could help-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, see, I don’t think so.” Tubbo interrupted, fishing something out of his own pocket. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A letter.” Tubbo held it gently while he explained, “okay, so I got bored after the funeral and decided to read one because they've been pretty interesting so far, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re fine reading them, right? You know you can always come to me if you need help-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy! Listen to me! I didn’t have trouble because I didn’t even get past the first sentence! But that’s besides the point- there was- well- because after I saw the first line, and- and- knowing you’d gone off with Phil, I had to stop you from-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Woah.” Tommy took a breath, raising his hands reassuringly, “okay, tell me one step at a time what happened.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo sighed and thrust the letter at Tommy. “Just read it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took it and immediately noticed the line Tubbo had been talking about because it was in all caps. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Wilbur,  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DO YOU TELL PHILZA ABOUT THESE LETTERS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh… Tubbo?” He glanced up and saw Tubbo staring at him like: ‘I told you so.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I knew you might tell Phil about the letters since he was mentioned in them, but I didn’t want to betray Wilbur’s trust.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pfff, what?” Tommy set the letter in his lap, “betray Wilbur’s trust? I’m pretty sure we’re committing a crime just by reading someone else’s mail right now. I don’t think Wilbur’s <em> trust </em> applies.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo considered it, then said, “I think we should read the letter fully first before making any assumptions about his reasons.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This letter isn’t even Wilbur’s, it’s this C guy-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy, read the letter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine, fine, I’ll read the stupid letter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Wilbur,  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DO YOU TELL PHILZA ABOUT THESE LETTERS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I know you’re still catching up or whatever, but please take my word on this one. I’m not even sure how this is working in the first place, bringing in Mr. Dad is not a good idea. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You don’t know me, you barely know yourself anymore, and Philza is living in blissful ignorance. Let’s keep it that way.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> If he really wanted to know, then none of this would have happened in the first place.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Maybe it’s your admin powers, maybe it’s this box, maybe it's just a cosmic glitch- the point is- we have no idea what’s going on. Right now, we need to focus on figuring out what is happening to us and then we can work on everybody else.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Do you trust me? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Do you remember trusting me? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> If so, Wilbur, please. I need you to do this one thing for me and never tell Philza that we are communicating.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Your pen-pal and once friend </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy squinted at the paper. “There’s no sign off on this one.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Tubbo peeked over his shoulder at the letter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, every other one said from C, this one just says ‘your pen-pal’ without a name- or nickname, I guess.” Tommy quickly glanced through the letter again. “This has literally only confused me more.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Me too. I mean, who would need to hide something from Philza Minecraft? The guy's practically a saint.” Tubbo laughed at the apparent absurdity of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A dark thought surfaced in Tommy’s mind as he said carefully, “he’s also the man who killed Wilbur.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His friend looked at him with obvious concern, “that was a very specific situation, Tommy. He didn’t do it maliciously, probably not even purposefully if I’m honest.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He did it purposefully,” Tommy said, clenching his fist and pressing a nail into his palm. “I just think that we shouldn’t be sure that we know what he’s capable of.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo didn’t look convinced, “we can be wary, but I don’t think we should take this letter so seriously without knowing the context.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The author seemed genuinely worried about Phil, I just think we should-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Phil would never-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We don’t know-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on, we know Phil-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought I knew Wilbur, I might not know Phil-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy, is that what this is about?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I just-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy was cut off by the loudest noise he had heard in some time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A scream. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A <em>terrified</em> scream. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fundy was screaming at the top of his lungs. And not at Quackity.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OOoooOOOooo a bit of a cliffhanger for you, my dear readers, to leave off on for this chapter. </p>
<p>Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are always appreciated. (and, as a reminder, if you would like me to not respond to your comment add a little /whisper onto it. I know interacting with people can be hard sometimes, and I would like you all to be comfortable here)</p>
<p>Sadly, you’re gonna have to wait on getting the answer as to why Fundy is screaming because up next we have a LORE sandwich with all the fixings.<br/>That’s right! We’re finally getting some fancy lore next chapter, and I am so excited to finally start introducing the main piece of this pie.<br/>Plus, next chapter we get a new POV that I think you all will really like.<br/>(also there’s gonna be angst, so be forewarned. It’s possible that as I’m writing the next chapter the tags may change to include additional warnings, but I’ll make sure to include an announcement in the beginning notes of the next chapter if they do.)</p>
<p>Next Chapter: that heartbreak you think you won’t survive also makes you feel just a little more alive<br/>Any guesses as to whose POV next chapter is going to be from? Does the chapter title give you any hint?</p>
<p>BONUS, continuation to this chapter (this will be the next, next chapter): mourning my life like I’m the one who died</p>
<p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe,<br/>Tuli &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. that heartbreak you think you won't survive also makes you feel just a little more alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wilbur hears the ticking of a clock.</p><p>Have you ever wondered what might have happened if someone other than Phil had come to stop Wilbur?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>STOP RIGHT THERE AND READ ALL OF THIS:</p><p>FIRST, CW:<br/>Suicidal thoughts/ideation and an implied (non-graphic) suicide<br/>Violence towards oneself and others<br/>Character believes nothing is real<br/>Character death (sort-of)<br/>(concerning the above, most of these things will be occurring in a “groundhog day” like scenario, i.e. looping situation) </p><p>This is a heavy chapter, so please be careful while reading. If you finish reading and think I should add anything else here (or in the tags), please let me know. My first priority is always the safety of the reader.</p><p>SECONDLY, for maximum lore-ness: if you feel comfortable and are able to, go on youtube- or wherever you want- and look up a clock ticking noise and play it while reading this chapter until “the ticking stops”<br/>If you’re really fancy and are a musician with a metronome, get out that bad boy and set it to one of it’s slowest settings.<br/>If you’re worried about the ticking or are at all uncomfortable with it, please do not push yourself. It is NOT necessary for the comprehension of this chapter, it is just a little extra ambiance.</p><p>Now you are ready o7</p><p>Enjoy the show…</p><p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Since the first second Wilbur had stepped into the button room, he had heard the sound of a clock. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Was it counting down to something? Up?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or was it simply counting?</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p><em> What </em> was it counting?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Time?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Life?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Death?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t stop. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Musicians sometimes use metronomes to count the beats to make sure their music is on tempo. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe if this ticking had been like a metronome’s, Wilbur would have accepted it easier. </p><p> </p><p>However, it wasn’t. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick... </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Wilbur was a musician. </p><p> </p><p>He liked counting. He liked counting in time to the very precise laws to which all music flowed. Sure, you could manipulate it into almost anything using downbeats, upbeats, syncopation, and other melodical tools. </p><p> </p><p>But there were still rules. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There was <em> order. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>This maddening, perpetual clock didn’t work right. It didn’t follow <em> any </em> rules. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He hated that damn clock. If it had been physical he would have smashed it to pieces the moment he heard its first tick.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It surely wasn’t counting seconds, as Wilbur had heard it speed up to the rate of a rabbit’s heartbeat. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t have any sort of musical tempo. </p><p> </p><p><em> Tick. </em> Silence. <em> Tick. Tick. </em> Nothing. <em> Ti- </em></p><p> </p><p>It sometimes didn’t even seem to finish its own fucking ticks. </p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p> <em> Tick. </em></p><p> </p><p>And it was driving him insane. </p><p> </p><p>He would give anything just to make it-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Stop. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That was what he wanted, right? Peace?</p><p> </p><p>Would destroying L’Manberg not finally give it to him?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Whenever I’m here I’m reminded of the song that is scribbled on the walls.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“That there <em> was </em> a special place. There <em> was. </em> But even with Tubbo in charge I don’t think it can exist again.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“If I’m gonna press it ever, it's gonna be now.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur reached out toward the button like it was a life-saver in a stormy sea but hesitated. </p><p> </p><p>Did he want to be saved? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“THE THING I BUILT THIS NATION FOR DOESN’T EXIST ANYMORE.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s over,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>And he <em> smiled. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Nothing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ti-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Phil?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What’s going on? The war’s over, Tubbo is president, we won!”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Phil?” Wilbur turned around and faced his father.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, I will admit-</p><p> </p><p>We <em> are </em> in L’Manberg-</p><p> </p><p>Have you heard the song on the-</p><p> </p><p>And my country-</p><p> </p><p>I was just saying it’s not there anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“But it is, Will, you’ve just won it back.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“PHIL, I’M ALWAYS SO CLOSE TO PRESSING THIS BUTTON, PHIL. I HAVE BEEN- I have been here like seven or eight times- seven or eight times.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“And you want to just blow it all up.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Nothing. </em> The world had stopped.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I do.” His words came without confidence, breathy, almost like he was begging them to be true. “I think I-”</p><p> </p><p>“You fought so hard-”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t even know if it works anymore. I could just… press it.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil laughed, afraid of the person he saw before him, “do you really want to take that risk?” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur took a breath and relaxed, finally at peace. Phil saw a broken man. “There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor- I don’t know if you’ve heard of him- Eret?</p><p> </p><p>Phil gave a slight nod. </p><p> </p><p>“It was never meant to be.”</p><p> </p><p>He closed his eyes and pressed a small button. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur expected pain, death maybe. Even if he lived, he still had the sword. Phil was there. Phil would kill him for the greater good. Phil would kill him if he asked and pushed hard enough.</p><p> </p><p>He <em> wanted </em> to die here.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, Wilbur heard the TNT light and waited for an explosion that never came.</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>There was nothing for a few seconds where Wilbur just waited. </p><p> </p><p>He was supposed to be <em> happy, </em> dammit.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>That stupid fucking ticking was back. </p><p> </p><p>He felt a gust of wind move past his face and finally decided to open his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was standing at the threshold of the button room. </p><p> </p><p>He glanced around. Where was Phil? L’Manberg was still there and the cave wasn’t blocked off like it had been before when he trapped himself and his father in. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur blinked. </p><p> </p><p>There are dreams that feel so real they even convince the waking mind that they really happened. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur felt like he was living a dream. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He ran through the motions almost subconsciously, giving the exact same speech, doing the exact same choreography, and feeling the exact same way. </p><p> </p><p>You know, they say insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur got a different result. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s over.”</p><p> </p><p>“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MAN?”</p><p> </p><p> Wilbur turned around and saw not Philza, not a concerned father, but his brother, his ever-loyal younger brother, Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy could not stop him. Wilbur was deaf to his pleas. </p><p> </p><p>The only song he heard was the one of destruction. Of an ending. Of rest. </p><p> </p><p>A way out.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It was never meant to be.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Again, Wilbur waited for an explosion, and again, nothing came. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Over and over again, Wilbur tried to press the button. However, no matter what happened, he would end up back at the entrance to the room. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>One time it was Fundy who tried to stop him. </p><p> </p><p>“It was never meant to be.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>One time it was Niki.</p><p> </p><p>“It was never meant to be.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>One time it was Eret themself. </p><p> </p><p>“You were right, Eret, it was never meant to be.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Finally, on the tenth repeat, Wilbur lost it. </p><p> </p><p>“What- WHAT DID I DO? WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS HELL? ARE YOU DOING THIS JUST TO FUCK WITH ME, DREAM?”</p><p> </p><p>As if he had been summoned, the admin was at the door of the room, “what are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur groaned in agony, “not you too! It’s always the same: Wilbur, what are you doing? And it all ends the same.” His voice was sadistically sarcastic, “it was never meant to be. Fuck this! Just let me blow it up, PLEASE! Please!”</p><p> </p><p>An expressionless mask watched him curiously, “I’m not going to stop you.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur whipped around, pointing a diamond sword at the man, and shouted, “you’re not even real!”</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur, I can assure you that I am very-”</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t finish because Wilbur had shoved his sword through the admin’s chest.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s dead eyes watched Dream slowly look down at the sword and then look back up. He felt some sort of crazed satisfaction that he <em> knew </em> the look had been in horror. Dream was scared of <em> him. </em> </p><p> </p><p>The speedrunner took a few sluggish, unbalanced steps backward and collapsed onto the floor where his own blood welcomed him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dream looked like he was trying to say something but only could cough between labored breaths. He kept reaching for Wilbur. For what? Mercy? Something else? Wilbur removed his mask and watched the light fade from desperate, begging eyes. </p><p> </p><p>No guilty feelings arose as he looked at the dead man. He wondered if that meant something about <em> both </em> of them. </p><p> </p><p>Clearing his conscience, Wilbur convinced himself that his apathy was because he knew the admin would respawn. </p><p> </p><p>The former President walked over to the button once more, fuming. “Let me out.”</p><p> </p><p>He punched it this time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>In the next loop, Wilbur tried pressing the button but keeping his eyes open to prevent the room from resetting. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t work. </p><p> </p><p>Even if he didn’t blink, the world seemed to blink for him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Everything went dark for a second and he was back at the entrance to the room. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was Tubbo this time. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur? What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>The man in question could only stare. “Nothing, apparently.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo blinked, “are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur laughed a maniacal, demented laugh like the one that had terrified Tommy many months ago. “Believe me, Tubbo. If I wanted L’Manberg gone, it would already be gone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, then,” Tubbo smiled hesitantly, “then you can come back to the podium? Tommy is there.” He began to approach the man, holding out an encouraging hand. “Phil even arrived, said that he wanted to talk to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve already spoken with Phil.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? You have? That’s great, Wilbur.” The hand was still offered. Wilbur looked at Tubbo’s face and saw only sorrow and pity. </p><p> </p><p>Without warning, Wilbur lunged toward the button, pressing it as he heard Tubbo yell “no!” from behind him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Anything not to see Tubbo’s disappointment again. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The next time Wilbur ran into the room screaming. He ripped down the messages on the walls of <em> my L’Manberg, my L’Manberg, my L’Manberg. </em> </p><p> </p><p>It was never his. </p><p> </p><p>Staring at the blank walls just made him feel empty, so, instead, he punched them, again and again, till his fists were raw and cut open. He didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>After completely destroying the room he sat in the corner alone and just watched the blood drip down from his torn-up knuckles. He felt nothing. </p><p> </p><p>He was <em> so</em> cold.</p><p> </p><p><em> Laughter. </em>From a voice he couldn’t place. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur stood despite the protests of his weary body and looked around the room. No one entered. </p><p> </p><p>Great, now he was hearing even more non-existent noises. </p><p> </p><p>He turned again to the plain button. </p><p> </p><p>He moved to press it but winced when his injured hands stung. It was the first pain he had felt in months.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur hit the button with his elbow. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He was back at the door. Injuries gone. </p><p> </p><p>This time he didn’t even try. Wilbur just sunk to his knees and sobbed. </p><p> </p><p>“Please... please… I just want it to stop. <em> Please, </em> just let me do this.”</p><p> </p><p>There was no answer.</p><p> </p><p>Except for the ticking. </p><p> </p><p><em> Tick. Tick. </em> Pause. <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. </em></p><p> </p><p>One time Sapnap tried to stop him and Wilbur could only laugh as he pressed the button. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>By far the strangest loop had been when a ghost version of Schlatt calling himself Glatt had attempted to convince Wilbur <em> to</em> press the button. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was glad for the reprieve from guilt-trips but somehow pressing the button while Glatt egged him on made him feel worse.</p><p> </p><p><em> Click. </em> Pause. <em> Tick. </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur had long lost count of how many times he had gone through this. </p><p> </p><p>Almost every member of the SMP had tried to convince him not to press the button and all of them had failed. </p><p> </p><p>He thought that might’ve been it, maybe whatever force was keeping him in this loop just wanted him to give up L’Manberg. Wilbur would have given anything to just make it all stop, so one time he tried to leave with Philza. As soon as they had left the room, Phil disappeared and the loop restarted. </p><p> </p><p>The next run had just been Wilbur screaming, “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>At his lowest, there had been no one. No one had come to stop him from pressing the button. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur had contemplated the button alone, waiting for the usual ‘what are you doing’ from whatever new person had come. </p><p> </p><p>But no one came. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur sighed and was about to press the button when another possibility occurred to him. </p><p> </p><p>He unsheathed the glowing diamond sword and just looked at it. It was perfectly clean, even though at this point it probably had the blood of everyone on the SMP on it. </p><p> </p><p>All except one.</p><p> </p><p>As he stared at the blade, every death so far replayed through his mind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Snap. Wilbur was stabbing Phil. </p><p> </p><p>Snap. He stabbed Quackity. </p><p> </p><p>Snap. He stabbed Badboyhalo.</p><p> </p><p>Snap. </p><p> </p><p>The sword pointed inward. </p><p> </p><p>It found its place. </p><p> </p><p>He felt nothing. </p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>He never tried it again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The ticking had become Wilbur’s constant companion. </p><p> </p><p>It was the only unifying variable to every loop. </p><p> </p><p>He had hated it at first, but now it was all he had. </p><p> </p><p>One loop he just sat against the wall of the room and ticked along with it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Tick!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Tick!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur laughed joyfully like a child playing with an imaginary friend. </p><p> </p><p>That loop Phil had arrived and Wilbur hadn’t even acknowledged him. He was too blinded by the button, by the ticking, and by the instability of his own soul. </p><p> </p><p>Phil couldn’t recognize his son. He tried waving his hand in front of Will’s glazed eyes and earned no reaction. Wilbur felt Phil try to hug him. </p><p> </p><p>Something indescribably cold wrapped around his heart in a violating icy caress. </p><p> </p><p>It felt <em> wrong. </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur didn’t remember how that one ended. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he just doesn’t want to. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It became monotonous. Wilbur memorized everyone’s words and acted out each loop like it was some sort of sick play. </p><p> </p><p>Was this a performance? If so, what character was he playing?</p><p> </p><p>Was he even himself anymore? </p><p> </p><p>Obviously, none of this was real- Wilbur had decided- because whatever he did before the room reset was always treated as though it had never happened. </p><p> </p><p>He may have stabbed Phil many times by now but his father still kept appearing every once in a while to beg for his son back.</p><p> </p><p>As time marched on, it became easier for Wilbur to not feel anything. </p><p> </p><p>Was he not feeling anything anymore or was he just pushing it further and further down? Did he forget that no matter how far you press your emotions down they always have a way of boiling over?</p><p> </p><p>What would make him feel again?</p><p> </p><p>What would break him?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Click. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur even tried speedrunning the room. Pressing the button as fast as he could over and over again in a row, preventing the loop from doing anything to stop him. </p><p> </p><p>But, every time, he only ended up back at the door.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He really had no idea what to do anymore. </p><p> </p><p>Every loop felt the same. </p><p> </p><p>He had tried everything. </p><p> </p><p>The life was gone from his voice as he tiredly repeated the same lines. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ti-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Finally, an iteration of Dream asked, with an uncharacteristic feeling to his words, “Wilbur, are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur gaped at him in shock and laughed. This was a new one!</p><p> </p><p>Dream flinched at the hysterical display in front of him and said hesitantly, “Wilbur?”</p><p> </p><p>He smiled viciously at the masked man. “Just leave, Dream.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur, I think you need some-”</p><p> </p><p>He pressed the button before Dream could finish. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Click.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur didn’t know what to do. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know how long it had been. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know if he was dreaming, if he was dead and in hell, or if there was some other explanation that was inevitably worse. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He stood in front of the button like he had thousands of times before and waited. </p><p> </p><p>The defeated man sighed and began again, his words breaking like shattering glass.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ti-  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Whenever I’m here I’m reminded of the song that is scribbled on the walls.” There was no passion in his voice as he said the line this time. No interest, just blank intonation. The director would not be proud.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“That there was a special place. There was. But even with Tubbo in charge I don’t think it can exist again.” Emotionless and flat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“If I’m gonna press it ever, it's gonna be now.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur reached out toward the button and remembered the question from the very first loop.  </p><p> </p><p>Did he want to be saved? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He went off-script. </p><p> </p><p>“The thing I built this nation for does still exist, doesn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s <em> not </em> over,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>He <em> did </em> want to be saved.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Nothing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Then… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Something. </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>At first, Wilbur didn’t recognize the voice. But that wasn’t a new experience, he hadn’t exactly known it was George the first time he had showed up. He thought that whatever hell this was had just conjured up yet another person entirely to make him feel guilty for hurting an innocent. </p><p> </p><p>But then…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then he heard a violin. </p><p> </p><p>A deep laugh resounded through his tumultuous mind. Was it from the past? Was it in the present? Wilbur didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>And then…</p><p> </p><p>Thunder and rain. Or was it an explosion and falling debris?</p><p> </p><p>...both?</p><p> </p><p><em>Tick. </em>Pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Techno?” Wilbur dared not turn around. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?” The voice repeated, lacking any violent, fearful, or accusatory tone that all the other voices had. This voice was punctuated with interest, with confusion, and with… care?</p><p> </p><p>“I-” Wilbur still didn’t turn around. “I just want to end this… so badly, Techno, so badly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” The voice sounded amused. “You just want to blow it all up?”</p><p> </p><p>The innocence- which was a puzzle in itself that Wilbur could call ‘the Blood god’ innocent- of that simple phrase almost broke Wilbur, but instead he steeled his resolve and continued. “Yeah. I do.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Will that make you free?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Wilbur asked in surprise and finally turned around. </p><p> </p><p>A man Wilbur hadn’t seen in years stood at the threshold of the room. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ti- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The deep red of an expensive, velvet cloak cascaded down the man’s shoulders with soft furs adorning the edges of it. He truly would look like a king even if he hadn’t had the gleaming golden crown currently sitting on his head. </p><p> </p><p>There was a new confidence in the way he stood that Wilbur had never seen from him before that made him almost unrecognizable. </p><p> </p><p>Not even when he’d wielded almost infinite power had he looked as free- as <em> happy. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade seemed lighter somehow if that was even a possible way of describing someone’s posture. Lighter didn’t really work as a descriptor, but Wilbur could find no other way to explain the way Techno seemed to float into the room as if he had been relieved of all the world’s burdens. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re looking for a way out, no?” Technoblade stepped to Wilbur's side with the clicking sound of his hooves and inspected the button. “This is the method you’ve landed on?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur could do nothing but stare at the man in front of him. His empirical <em> brother. </em> His <em> twin</em> brother.</p><p> </p><p>“Techno?”</p><p> </p><p>His twin turned to him and smiled good-naturedly. “Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>They just stood there. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if you’re going to blow it up, I won’t stop you. I haven’t seen a good explosion in quite some time.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur laughed and felt a single tear fall down his face. Emotions bubbled warningly under the surface. Techno met his gaze with genuine concern. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“It won’t work, Techno. IT WON’T WORK.” Wilbur gestured wildly with his hands, the former, raving fire beginning to glow in his eyes again. “Everything will just reset as soon as I press that button.” He heaved a few shaking breaths. Techno watched him. Wilbur’s voice was soft as he said, “besides, I don’t want this one to go away- I want to stay here… with you.” Wilbur tried to clasp his brother’s hands but Techno moved away.</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade returned to pondering the button. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur grabbed his brother’s shoulder and tried to forcefully remove his attention from the object Wilbur himself now regarded with hatred. That button could end this lovely moment, even if Wilbur still believed it to be fake- an illusion, a dream. “Techno- Techno- Techno, please speak to me. It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice.” Wilbur was miserably begging now. Techno allowed himself to be pulled away but frowned at Wilbur.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want it to work?”</p><p> </p><p>Yet again Wilbur was hit with confusion and shock, “What?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno tilted his head questioningly at his brother, “do you want it to work?”</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur paused for a second and then whispered, “yes... more than anything.”</p><p> </p><p>The Blade nodded and stepped away, “press it now.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Press it.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“But- but I don’t want to lose you. I <em> like </em> this loop.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade smiled gently and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, “press it, Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“But-”</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>For the first time, he presses the button with regret.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> CLICK. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The ticking stops.</p><p> </p><p>He feels relief.</p><p> </p><p>The beginnings of an explosion rocket through Wilbur’s bones and he opens his arms to welcome it but feels someone else stop him with a protective hug. An arm wraps around him with kindness and Wilbur feels himself being pulled into an embrace, the person’s soft cloak settling over him like a comforting blanket.</p><p> </p><p>Everything stops.</p><p> </p><p>Everything stops.</p><p> </p><p>This time, it was literal. </p><p> </p><p>Techno stands in front of him shielding him from the blaze tearing through the small room, holding a single hand out in a motion Wilbur could only describe as ‘stop.’</p><p> </p><p>And stop it did.</p><p> </p><p>Chunks of earth hung unmoving in the air and flames were frozen in time. The button had finally worked only to be stopped half-way through its intended purpose. </p><p> </p><p>“Why- why… why did it stop.” Wilbur clung onto Techno’s cape with desperation, falling to his knees to beg of the warrior, “Techno, please- <em> please, </em> just let it happen.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade’s hand fell back to his side, but the explosion stayed preserved in time. The stare he gave Wilbur was conflicted but quickly morphed into a practiced mask of indifference. Techno lowered himself down to Wilbur’s level, crouching to look into his brother’s eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Having collapsed on the floor, Wilbur realized that he was crying as he hung onto the cloak. He wasn’t even sure when it had started, all he knew was that warm tears were falling down his face as he pleaded with his brother.</p><p> </p><p>“Techno- Techno-”</p><p> </p><p>“Will?” The honest compassion in his words silenced Wilbur, “tell me- truthfully, Wilbur- do you feel better now?”</p><p> </p><p>A slight laugh escaped him, emotions he had hidden for far too long finally expressing themselves in the tears still spilling onto the stone floor. “Well I sure as fuck can’t feel any worse now can I?”</p><p> </p><p>“But do you feel <em> better? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur didn’t answer, he just looked away and finally relinquished the cloak. Folding into himself, Wilbur brought his knees to his chest and refused to meet Technoblade’s distressed gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you feel better, Wilbur?” It was a command. </p><p> </p><p>“I DON’T KNOW!” He began rocking softly, “I don’t know…”</p><p> </p><p>Techno reached forward a hand and Wilbur took it greedily. </p><p> </p><p>They were there for some time. Wilbur sitting in the fetal position, lightly clinging to his twin’s hand, while Techno, who had also now sat on the floor, watched him in an attentive criss-cross. Techno never looked away from Wilbur’s face, but it didn’t feel intrusive. At long last, the tears slowed and finally stopped with Wilbur sinking into a more relaxed position. If one looked closely they would realize that it was because of exhaustion- an all-consuming exhaustion- not relaxation. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur gently removed his hand from Techno’s and took a deep breath. Wiping away the tears onto the sleeve of his trenchcoat, he said, “I don’t know... because I’ve never made it past the explosion.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yet… you have. You just don’t remember.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur blinked at his brother who patiently sat across from him. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean I don’t remember?”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade sighed, “close your eyes, Wilbur, and focus on what I’m saying.”</p><p> </p><p>He closed his eyes with some hesitation. </p><p> </p><p>“You were in the button room, yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who was in there with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“You?”</p><p> </p><p>“Name.”</p><p> </p><p>“Techno.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Wilbur, who <em> was </em> in the room with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, Dream, Fundy, Tommy, Tubbo-”</p><p> </p><p>“Will, who was with you in the <em> real </em> button room?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur's eyes snapped open, “what do you mean the real button room?”</p><p> </p><p>“Surely," Techno’s brows furrowed, "you’ve realized this whole thing is only in your mind by now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh…” Wilbur’s breath quickened. </p><p> </p><p>Techno saw Wilbur begin to spiral and quickly said, “it doesn’t make this experience any less real, Will. I’m still here for you.”</p><p> </p><p>He looked at his twin. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re not Techno,” Wilbur realized, feeling disappointed even though he had known all along.</p><p> </p><p>The figure of his brother laughed, “that I am not.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re a product of my mind too? How can I even remember-”</p><p> </p><p>The Technoblade placed a finger against his own lips, “we’re getting off track. Now, close your eyes again.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur begrudgingly followed the direction. </p><p> </p><p>“Who was in the button room with you, Wilbur?”</p><p> </p><p>He took a minute to think about it this time and suddenly a memory surfaced in his disorganized mind. <em> Phil. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Philza.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good. Now, what happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well… we were there, and I gave my speech. I said the line, pressed the button, and…” Wilbur felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. </p><p> </p><p>“Will?”</p><p> </p><p>“There was an explosion. I didn’t die- not at first… Phil- Dad- he-”</p><p> </p><p>“It's alright. I’m right here.”</p><p> </p><p>Keeping his eyes closed, Wilbur reached out a hand that was met with the hand of the other sitting with him. They interlocked fingers and Wilbur continued.</p><p> </p><p>“I asked Phil to kill me… and he did. He stabbed me with a sword. I died.” A revelation. “I didn’t feel better after the explosion.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur opened his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He met Techno’s eyes... and discovered they were <em> blue. </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur pulled apart their hands sharply and leaned backward. “You’re not Techno.” </p><p> </p><p>Bright, icy blue eyes stared into his soul. “Again, no. I’m not.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you?” Wilbur stood and tried to walk further away from the figure but hit the wall of the room far before he wanted to stop retreating. </p><p> </p><p>The Techno was still sitting on the floor. He sighed, “someone who owes you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” If Wilbur had a nickel for every time this conversation had thrown him off his guard, he would be a rich man. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t explain to you. It wouldn’t matter now.” The person explained, “but I owe you, and that’s what <em> is</em> important.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you look like Techno?”</p><p> </p><p>The figure glared at him, “also not important. Although, there is a reason, I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>Pause.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what do you owe me?”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade stared at him, “you never read my letter, did you?”</p><p> </p><p>“You do not- you-” Wilbur stuttered out trying to edge even further from the image of his brother, “you do <em> not</em> get to call those letters yours.”</p><p> </p><p>The fake Techno scowled, “fine. You never read <em> Techno’s</em> final letter.”</p><p> </p><p>“I did not,” he admitted, feeling like he was confessing a sin. </p><p> </p><p>A quiet laugh, “you really should’ve.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur grew angry, “what would it have mattered? He doesn’t care, I’m just projecting onto you anyway. I <em> want</em> him to care.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno smiled; a chill ran down Wilbur’s back. “We both know that’s a lie.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was frozen in place like the explosion which still hung immobile in the air around them. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade just smiled smugly. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” the fake Techno stood, “I’ve come to offer you a gift.”</p><p> </p><p>“What could you possibly offer me? Unless, you’re gonna revive me, and- no thanks to that- I would like to <em> stay</em> dead.”</p><p> </p><p>“You want to stay <em> here? </em> ” It seemed to have been a joke but when Techno saw Wilbur’s terrified face he sighed and said, “that which calls to you from the afterlife I cannot fight and what you <em> really</em> want I cannot provide.” Techno walked to the edge of the room overlooking the center of the explosion, “however, I can give you something else.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what’s that?” Wilbur asked spitefully. </p><p> </p><p>The Techno turned and beckoned Wilbur by his side, and Wilbur followed against his better judgement. Reaching Techno, he gasped, as if seeing colors for the first time, finally taking in the full effect of what he had done. The twins stood side-by-side overlooking the epicenter of their world.</p><p> </p><p>The view was beautiful to Wilbur. Flames blossomed out from the center of the explosion like the petals of a beautiful red, orange, and white flower. They grew like parasitic vines over a glorious, fatal wound to the heart of L’Manberg, destined to strangle it. Wilbur stayed there silently, wholly captivated by the destruction of his own design. </p><p> </p><p>Techno’s words brought him out of his thoughts. “I cannot bring you back to life- although, that is <em> possible- </em> but I can give you another way out.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s breath caught in his throat and he looked at the image of his Techno. “A way out?” </p><p> </p><p>To anyone else, that simple phrase might not have meant that much, but to Wilbur it meant everything. A ‘way out’ had been the point of contention between himself and Techno for years. It was what took Techno away from him and it was what Wilbur was trying to get by destroying L’Manberg. </p><p> </p><p>What did the phrase mean? Well, only the two of them would ever know the emotional connotations they had hidden in their letters. </p><p> </p><p>Fake Techno smiled again, “indeed. A real one- one your Techno would be proud of.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what’s the price?”</p><p> </p><p>The figure considered his words, “this is a gift, so no price. But, as you know, you cannot make something out of nothing, so I will need something in sacrifice.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno shrugged, “I’ll leave it up to you. Based on my powers though, I would need something personal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Like an item?”</p><p> </p><p>“Like memories.”</p><p> </p><p>Gears spun in Wilbur’s head. “Wait, you’re the-”</p><p> </p><p>The fake Techno looked worried, “-let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> hate</em> you, you know that right?” Wilbur flared, “you’re the one who did this!”</p><p> </p><p>“I did not do this. I merely offered an escape-”</p><p> </p><p>“You took-”</p><p> </p><p>“NO, I DID NOT.” Techno’s voice boomed and Wilbur covered his ears. After the echoing voice had faded, the imitation Techno backed away from Wilbur, eyes full of fear. Wilbur was surprised when he realized that the Techno was afraid of himself. “I did not,” he repeated more gently. “I’m trying to help.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur stared at the figure searchingly. “What are you going to do, take away all of my happy memories or something so I have to suffer as a shell for the rest of my- my... life?”</p><p> </p><p>“Happy memories are not required,” Techno stated, “all memories are equally meaningful, otherwise they wouldn’t have become memories in the first place, hm?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur considered the fake Techno’s words. </p><p> </p><p>“So…”</p><p> </p><p>“So?”</p><p> </p><p>“What would this entail?” Wilbur asked, cursing his own interest. </p><p> </p><p>“I would like to leave an imprint of you in the real world. To offer guidance and closure to your friends and family. I just need some of your memories to make it work.”</p><p> </p><p>Regardless of what people thought of Wilbur at the end of his life, the man still didn’t really want to hurt anyone. Blowing up L’Manberg was a selfish action, not a malicious one. </p><p> </p><p>“And- imprint me- ghost me- Ghostbur? Would… <em> help</em> the people of the SMP?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno nodded. “Trust me. This is an apology on my part. I just want to make things better.”</p><p> </p><p>“And Dream-”</p><p> </p><p>The fake Techno laughed, much like the real one did at powerful people, “Dream couldn’t stop me if he had all the power in this tiny little server.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur took a deep breath. “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he looked at the likeness of his twin brother, “okay. I think I want to.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno smiled warmly. “Just take my hands.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur slowly took his brother’s hands. He could almost convince himself that he was holding on tightly to the real Techno. This Techno’s hands were freezing.</p><p> </p><p>“Close your eyes.”</p><p> </p><p>He closed his eyes for a final time. </p><p> </p><p>“What memories will you give up?” Techno’s voice asked. </p><p> </p><p>“The sad ones, the bad ones. Only- please, leave me the happy ones.”</p><p> </p><p>“Understood.” Techno’s whisper faded like he was getting further and further away even though Wilbur could still feel his hands in his own, “see you soon, Ghostbur.”</p><p> </p><p>And then Wilbur was falling. </p><p> </p><p>Fading, falling- synonyms really- for that feeling of nothingness Wilbur instinctively knew was death. </p><p> </p><p>But death how?</p><p> </p><p>Death of who he <em>was?</em></p><p> </p><p>Death of who he <em>would</em> have been?</p><p> </p><p>And what is a coin without two sides?</p><p> </p><p>You cannot have one without the other. </p><p> </p><p>Death. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Resurrection. </p><p> </p><p>The coin flipped. </p><p> </p><p>And then Wilbur was <em> rising. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TWO THOUSAND HITS? AND TWO HUNDRED KUDOS!<br/>Thank you! &lt;3333333</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!</p><p>Long-winded author’s note incoming:</p><p>Kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated! The next chapter may take a little longer than usual (so far it's been like every 2 days) because I am simultaneously also working on a very large project for school so that’s gonna take most of my writing energy for the next few days. So, in the meantime, I’ll be interacting with y’all in the comments! I love reading all your messages, they seriously brighten my day so much, so thank you &lt;3</p><p>Let me know how you enjoyed this lore chapter, and I especially am interested in feedback and theories since this chapter was a bit different than the others…<br/>There’s so much stuffed into this chapter, how much do you think you caught? Any theories? If so, drop ‘em in the comments!</p><p>Fun fact: I could probably analyze every sentence of this in-depth with the reasoning behind it. (although, I can do that with most of my writing, I try to make every piece meaningful in some way. I can’t wait till I get to reveal all the foreshadowed secrets!) </p><p>Also, like I said in the pre-notes, if you think I should add any tags or warnings to this chapter, let me know in the comments. </p><p>Up next: (returning to the present L’Manberg)<br/>mourning my life like I’m the one who died</p><p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe,<br/>Tuli &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. mourning my life like I'm the one who died</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fundy is scared by a flower. Tommy and Tubbo try to get answers from Wilbur without using a Ouija board. Someone else forces himself into the mystery gang and accidently answers an important question, but the answer is not as helpful as they thought.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Do you write your eights using the infinity method or by drawing two separate circles vertically next to each other? I’m part of the weird second group, don’t judge me.</p><p>Anyway, here’s chapter eight. We finally get to see why Fundy was screaming.<br/>Fundy: aaaAAA- *mic cut/record scratch* yep that’s me, you’re probably wondering how I got into this situation.</p><p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fundy screamed.</p><p> </p><p>...but in order to understand <em> why, </em> one would need context.</p><p> </p><p>A few minutes earlier, Fundy had been peacefully transferring supplies to his new home. It had been mainly furniture, but there were some rugs and smaller fixtures mixed in. </p><p> </p><p>Quackity had backed off slightly, but the threat still loomed. If the man decided to add a second story to his home, Fundy’s view- that he had <em> especially </em> planned for- would be completely blocked. He didn’t want to seem like he was whining, but Fundy decided anyway to approach Tubbo later to try and get a Presidential order for Quackity to stop building. </p><p> </p><p>So, it was relatively calm now. </p><p> </p><p>Except… </p><p> </p><p>Fundy couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He would come back to the pile of furniture sitting on the grass outside and notice something had been moved. At first, he assumed it was Quackity, but that was quickly disproven after Quackity had walked with the fox-hybrid during one of his trips. There was no way Quackity could have been both talking with Fundy and also messing with Fundy’s things on the other side of the country. </p><p> </p><p>They came back to the pile and Fundy finally asked, “Quackity, have you been stealing my stuff?”</p><p> </p><p>“Although that may sound like something I would do, if anything’s missing it wasn’t me this time.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy searched through a chest, saying, “well, I know there were more sticks in here before, and some of my wood is missing too…”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re losing it,” Quackity said, pulling out an apple and taking a bite. Then with his mouth full, “why do you even care anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because it's my stuff! I feel like we’re being pranked and I don’t like it. I should be on the other end.”</p><p> </p><p>“We?” Quackity laughed, “you’re losing your shit, old man.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not fucking old!”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy kept moving his things but would glance over his shoulder consistently to try and capture whatever was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Quackity made fun of him for it.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, the fox-hybrid had enough- both of Quackity and the physical labor- and decided to take a breather outside. He leaned up against the wall of his new home and massaged the fox ears on the crown of his head. </p><p> </p><p>Sighing and closing his eyes for a moment, Fundy mumbled, “I’ll show him- I’ll- I know there’s something fishy going-”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy had opened his eyes to a sign directly in front of him reading simply: hello, son.</p><p> </p><p>He blinked, fixed to the spot. </p><p> </p><p>The air behind the sign warped slowly like a mirage in the desert and suddenly a smiling man was standing there holding out an azure bluet. Fundy was struck by the bright yellow sweater he wore that heavily contrasted with his dull, gray skin. </p><p> </p><p>Wait, he was transparent. </p><p> </p><p>Wait. He was supposed to be dead.</p><p> </p><p>Although Fundy had recognized the man immediately, it only actually processed as the man said “hi!” in the most upbeat, positive tone the fox had ever heard. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy screamed.</p><p> </p><p>A puzzled, echoing voice he thought he’d never hear again stammered, “Fundy?” </p><p> </p><p>Fundy just kept screaming and fell onto his tail while trying to run.</p><p> </p><p>“Wha- wha- Wilb- wha-” Fundy tried to push himself over the ground away from the spectre of his dead father. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” There was such concern on the apparition's face. </p><p> </p><p>The flower had been withdrawn and the ghost now held the small pale bluets near his chest. Overall, the effect was chilling. It looked almost like he had risen directly from the grave holding the bouquet he had been supposed to <em> stay </em> buried with. </p><p> </p><p>“You- you’re-”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity came around the side of the building in a hurry. “Hey, man, why’re you screaming like-” he saw the ghost. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT.”</p><p> </p><p>Transparent Wilbur turned, “oh, hello, Quackity!”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy shakily stood, brushing the dirt off of his pants and getting right up in Wilbur’s face, “listen here, you- you… terrorist.” He jabbed a finger angrily at the man, “You’re supposed to be dead!”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> am </em> dead! I’m a ghost!” The ghost said cheerfully, completely oblivious to Fundy's tone.</p><p> </p><p>Quackity came up by Fundy’s side, “we can see that, Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not <em> really</em> Wilbur,” the spectre said, rubbing his chin in concentration, “oh! Can you call me Ghostbur? I like that name!”</p><p> </p><p>They paused.</p><p> </p><p>Quackity shared a glance with Fundy and said, “sure… uh- Ghostbur? What are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why, I came to say hello to my son!” Ghostbur once again extended the flowers to Fundy.</p><p> </p><p>Fundy stared in bewilderment and slowly took the flowers, “um… thanks? ...Dad?”</p><p> </p><p>The trio heard the noises of two more pairs of feet running toward them about the same time as they saw Tommy and Tubbo appear from around the side of the house. Both the boys looked out of breath. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo started to say, “what’s going on, is everything okay, what-”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy looked equally concerned until he saw the ghost and his face fell, coming to an abrupt stop a few meters away from the trio. “Wilbur?”</p><p> </p><p>The apparition laughed, his voice echoing as if from the bottom of a canyon, “no, silly! I’m Ghostbur!”</p><p> </p><p>“What is he doing here?” Tommy asked irritably, ignoring the ghost and looking to Quackity and Fundy. Ghostbur looked hurt. </p><p> </p><p>“We don’t know either!”</p><p> </p><p>“I only got here a few hours ago and have been trying to find someone since. I found Fundy first and decided to give him a gift! And- well- sometimes,” Ghostbur offered, “ghosts come back to finish unfinished business.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want any of your unfinished business, Wilbur.” Tommy glared at the ghost, “you’ve destroyed L’Manberg enough.”</p><p> </p><p>Ghostbur tilted his head, “what?”</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause as they all seemed to reach the same conclusion. </p><p> </p><p>Then, Fundy exclaimed, “do you mean to tell me that he’s lost his fucking memory?” at the same time that Tubbo said, “oh, I think he’s an amnesiac ghost.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that why he’s been acting so weird?” Quackity asked, looking at the flowers Fundy still held onto like he didn’t know what to do with them. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been acting weird? I’m just myself.” Ghostbur defensively hugged the sleeves of his yellow sweater and said doubtfully, “what’s different? I just wanted to give my son a gift.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you’re a ghost for one,” Fundy said, to which Quackity laughed.</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause that Tommy broke with a heavy sigh. </p><p> </p><p>“Listen, Ghostbur,” Tommy began, “old you- alive you- went absolutely bonkers at the end of his life. We don’t exactly have good memories with the bitch.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh…” Ghostbur frowned and seemed to become more solid for a second, then brightened again, “but I’m not Alivebur, I’m Ghostbur!” He floated slightly off the ground and did a little twirl in the air. </p><p> </p><p>No one seemed sure what to say to that. Ghostbur just smiled placatingly. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Tommy asked, an idea rising in the back of his mind, “what <em> do </em> you remember?” </p><p> </p><p>“I remember… L’Manberg. But it looked differently than it does now. I remember the election.” He looked excitedly at Tommy, “and we won, right? We won!”</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur…”</p><p> </p><p>“And! I remember raising Fundy.” The ghost beamed at his son, “I remember Niki. There was- there- Newfoundland and pee dog. I remember growing up with Phil and… training with… him.” Ghostbur paused and seemed to consider something heavily, but the tension on his face vanished pretty quickly and he continued, “there was an explosion- a lot of- of explosions? A ravine- I think? And a box… something in the- someone? In the box? Wait...”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo flinched. </p><p> </p><p>“I- I-” Ghostbur seemed to become more and more conflicted with his words as he continued, speeding up anxiously, “there were books. Someone read to me- or I wrote them? Someone else said- and there were- I think I remember arrows too? Long, dark tunnels. It was so, so cold. I was so cold. I remember Sally,” he gave Fundy another smile, but it seemed forced. His words grew even faster, “I- swords and weapons. I- I don’t know if they were mine- someone else was there… there were rising clouds- or was it smoke- smoke… snow... I don’t remember- was it- was he- I don’t- um- I can’t-”</p><p> </p><p>“Ghostbur?” Fundy looked worriedly at the spectre. </p><p> </p><p>The ghost of Wilbur shuddered, white-knuckling the edge of his sweater, and then relaxed, smiling cheerfully as if nothing had happened. “That’s pretty much it. I think the last thing I remember was Philza stabbing me with a sword.”</p><p> </p><p>“He remembers <em>that? </em>” Tommy shouted, “but not any of the other shitty things that have gone on-”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I only remember the happy memories, Tommy,” Ghostbur said apologetically, again fiddling with his sweater. </p><p> </p><p>There was a pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Ghostbur,” Tubbo pursed his lips and asked gently, “Phil killing you is a happy memory?”</p><p> </p><p>The ghost took a minute to think, something darker passing behind his eyes, “I don’t really know why… but I remember feeling... happy. I- I think I wanted him to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Tubbo looked at Tommy. Fundy and Quackity shared a look.</p><p> </p><p>“So, uh, Ghostbur,” Quackity said, sounding like he was trying to change the subject, “what are you doing here? Do you have a plan or anything about where you’re going to go or what you’re going to do?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d like to stay here! It’s my home!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy crossed his arms. “You're going to have to ask Tubbo about that, big man.” </p><p> </p><p>Ghostbur looked to Tubbo, “oh? Can I?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course you can stay here, Ghostbur-”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy whipped around to face his friend, “what?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>President’s </em> orders.” Tubbo looked pointedly at Tommy who scowled. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re the<em> President?</em> That’s great, Tubbo! I’m so proud of you.” Ghostbur attempted to ruffle Tubbo’s hair but his action only worked half-way, as if his transparent fingers weren’t all there. “And my son!” He moved over to Fundy and began to ramble, “could you show me around? This place has changed quite a bit from what I remember- oh! And you could help me choose a place to build- and I could help with construction on your house- I’m sure I could make this place look a little nicer- maybe patch up that giant hole in the ground- would you help me?”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy looked like he really wanted to say no, but instead grumbled, “<em> sure… </em> Ghostbur.” </p><p> </p><p>The ghost grabbed the fox-hybrid’s hand and began to playfully skip over toward the main part of L’Manberg as opposed to Fundy who was practically dragging his feet as he was pulled along. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait, Ghostbur.” Tommy ran after them, Tubbo and Quackity following behind him. “I had something to ask you.”</p><p> </p><p>The apparition stopped and smiled, “of course, Tommy! What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you remember writing to anyone consistently during your life, like- with letters?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm…” Ghostbur tapped his foot on the ground as he thought. Eventually, “nope!” He said, popping the ‘p.’</p><p> </p><p>“Letters?” Fundy asked, earning a curious head tilt from Quackity as well. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s eyes widened, “It’s nothing important.” He tried to explain, “Tommy and I just found some letters in Pogtopia, we’re not even sure that they were Wilbur’s.”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity narrowed his eyes at the President but remained silent. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure, Ghostbur?” Tommy continued to push, “no secret friends- maybe even a girl friend- maybe a sibling- maybe some secret twin that nobody knew about?” He held his breath. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re funny, Tommy!” Tommy exhaled in disappointment as the ghost laughed. “I don’t think they were mine.” A thought seemed to occur to him and he fell into another fit of giggles, “imagine me- having a twin! I could play so many funny pranks with them!”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy glanced at Quackity, “yeah, sorry, but I don’t think we could deal with two of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy sighed, “thanks anyway, Ghostbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hope you solve the mystery of those letters, boys, good luck!” The ghost waved and walked off with a pep in his step and a Fundy reluctantly at his side. </p><p> </p><p>After a beat, Quackity turned angrily to the pair, “okay, what’s really going on? I’m not stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eyy,” Tommy started to realize his mistake, “my friend, whatever do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Cut the crap, Tommy. What did you two find?”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo sighed, “okay, but please don’t go sharing this around.” Quackity frowned but nodded, “the letters Tommy and I found are definitely Wilbur’s, but we have no idea who they’re from.”</p><p> </p><p>“The guy had a pen-pal, so what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you see,” Tubbo rubbed the back of his neck stressfully, “in one of the letters, Wilbur called the recipient his twin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, oh.” Tommy said, rolling his eyes, “as far as I knew Phil only has two kids- three if you’re counting Tubbo. Wilbur didn’t have a twin and Phil said so too.”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity’s eyebrows looked like they were going to float off his face, “that’s fucking weird, man.”</p><p> </p><p>“You think? We have no idea what’s going on. I would have thought at least Ghostbur may have remembered something.” Tommy crossed his arms across his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe…” Quackity looked uncertainly at them, “Ghostbur said he only remembered the happy memories, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy made a face, and Tubbo said, “do you think that the memory of an <em> entire person </em> could be a bad memory?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s possible at least.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy tried to consolidate that with all the facts they already knew and only became more confused, “that still doesn’t explain how Phil doesn’t remember anything, or how I don’t recall Wilbur ever having anything even close to a twin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Magic?” Tubbo suggested. </p><p> </p><p>“At this point,” Tommy laughed tiredly, “that’s the only explanation we have.” </p><p> </p><p>Looking both Tubbo and Tommy up and down, Quackity said, “So, what’s the deal with these letters anyway? Maybe the dude just wanted some privacy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fair.” Tubbo said, “but almost half my enderchest’s full of them-”</p><p> </p><p>“Half?” Quackity yelled.</p><p> </p><p>“Half of mine too.” Tommy mumbled, “I just want to know literally anything about it.” In a rare moment of brave honesty, Tommy looked at Quackity and said, “Wilbur was my brother, Big Q. I feel like I’m suddenly missing a huge chunk of his life. I <em> have </em> to know.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo began to walk back around to the front of the houses, “I can show you if you want, Quackity.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.” Quackity gave Tommy a look that he couldn’t decipher and continued, “I think Fundy put an enderchest into his home a few hours ago if you wanna go there.”</p><p> </p><p>They did luckily find an e-chest on Fundy’s first floor. Tubbo touched the eye on the front of the chest that functionally acted like a fingerprint scanner lock. It glowed and he opened the chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Woah!” Quackity looked at the many piles of letters stacked neatly in Tubbo’s chest. “There’s so many!” He leaned over Tubbo and plucked one out at random. </p><p> </p><p>“I <em> just </em> finished organizing these-”</p><p> </p><p>“You organized them?” Tommy asked mockingly, “nerd. I just shoved mine in random stacks to save space.”<br/><br/></p><p>Tubbo sighed in exasperation, “yes, I organized them. I thought it might make it easier to keep track of what was going on.” Quackity opened the letter he had grabbed and started reading it. “The stack that Quackity just grabbed from are the ones that I could tell blatantly talked about Fundy.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Tommy.” Tubbo sighed again, “Wilbur spoke about his son <em> a lot. </em> There’s even a stack for you in here- and one for Phil- and-”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a stack for me?” Tommy couldn’t tell why the statement had made him feel something because he also wasn’t sure <em> what </em> he was feeling. He couldn’t tell if he was happy that Wilbur wrote about him, worried about what had been said, or whether he was just angry that Wilbur would tell someone he didn’t know about Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo pointed to a pile of letters, “yeah, it’s the stack in the back corner. I just skimmed over most of them really quickly and looked for names or other important features I could organize them by, like photos or other attachments, and I even made a stack for the letters Wilbur didn’t call the guy C in.”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity looked up from the letter he was reading. “I think it’s pretty fucking weird that Wilbur called the guy his ‘little champion,’” he said with air quotes. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy froze, “I’m sorry, he WHAT.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait- wait- wait, what?” Tubbo said at mostly the same time. </p><p> </p><p>The man held up the letter hesitantly, “it says here that Wilbur used to call his pen-pal his little champion until Fundy came around and then he switched it to just champion, which I'm guessing is who you were referring to when you said C.”</p><p> </p><p>“No way,” Tommy ripped the letter from Quackity’s outstretched hand. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> My Little Champion,  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m sorry to say that this will be the last time I can call you by this nickname and, thus, is why I used it in full. It’s likely that I will continue to call you my Champion, but I feel wrong keeping the ‘little’ diminutive. Like it has been, I’ll still call you C, but I still don’t understand why you’re so worried about using your real name anyway.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You’re certainly happy about this, I’m sure. I know you’re older than me, but isn’t that why I called you little in the first place? I remember how easy it was to get on your nerves and it was entertaining for both Phil and me. You were always so aloof around others, but we could always break that external mask and get to the real you. The irritable, old-soul that just wanted to do his own thing and be left alone.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The reason for this change is because I found myself calling Fundy by the title the other day by accident and realized I had to change one of your nicknames. It has seemed to fit you less and less as the years have gone on so I look at the transition more like a passing of the torch.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So, alas, goodbye my former little Champion. You’ve been replaced by my son.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And- I know- I know- I’m going to get a sarcastically offended response from you even though you have always hated the nickname. You don’t like change more than you don’t like the name.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Well, wake up old man (young man?) and touch some grass! Times are changing whether you like it or not. I know much doesn’t change for you, so I am glad to bring some sort of novelty into your life even if it is just a small one.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Maybe send Fundy some of your luck.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> On second thought- and no offense- don’t. I’m not sure I want Fundy to turn out like you did and I think you might actually agree with me on that one. Self-deprecating smartass.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Now, I wanted to end this letter on a high note about my son, but I need to address what you said in the previous letter: </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I still haven’t forgiven you, but I can admit that it’s more complicated than I had originally thought.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m figuring it out, please give me time.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.” Tommy said, flipping the letter over to look at the blank back. “Well that answers <em>a</em> question.”</p><p> </p><p>“But it also raises a whole load more.” Tubbo looked thoughtful. </p><p> </p><p>“I’d be open to helping you figure this out, ya know,” Quackity volunteered. “I’d kinda like to know who the guy had been talking to.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy and Tubbo looked at each other. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo smirked, “welcome to the mystery gang, Quackity!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>{Quackity has joined the party!}</p><p>Also, I have actually added him as a character tag because his involvement in this story is gonna be larger than I originally had in mind. So, pog? If you like Quackity that is.<br/>(I do have to say that he is very fun to write, so I’m on board)</p><p>I’m so burnt out from writing academically, so this is a very nice creative break. I am absolutely churning out words atm. Did you know at the beginning of this that I thought these chapters would be like 1k words? I don’t think I’ve had a &lt;1k word chapter since the prologue. Again, not complaining, it’s very cool that I have this crazy writing energy back.</p><p>Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are always seen and appreciated from the bottom of my heart. So all of you reading this, here: &lt;3 *virtual hug*<br/>And thank you so much</p><p>Like always, I’ll be interacting with ppl in the comments so drop one if you feel comfortable. I love talking with y'all<br/>(/whisper if you want me to see it but not interact)</p><p>So... we finally got the answer as to what C stands for, what are you thinking now? I hope the answer to this mystery hasn't let you down. There are still so many questions left to solve, don't be slacking off now. There were more hints hidden in this chapter, are you starting to spot a pattern?</p><p>Chapter 9: we’re never going to forget them now that we’ve read them</p><p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>Until next time,<br/>Tuli (Onelituli)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. we're never going to forget them now that we've read them</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy has trouble sleeping and confronts some truths he would rather have repressed.<br/>A letter is destroyed in the process.<br/>(Or: processing loss is hard so we all try and rationalize a way to feel better without actually having to address our feelings, but what are you supposed to do when someone you thought you knew becomes unrecognizable?)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Woah. Chapter nine.<br/>Bit of an angsty one for you crazy kids, hope you enjoy.<br/>CW: negative self-talk, descriptions of emotional and physical pain</p><p>(also make sure to read the endnotes, there’s a special announcement and some info on the coming week)</p><p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was almost three a.m. and Tommy was still awake. </p><p> </p><p>Staring. </p><p> </p><p>Just staring at the ceiling. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a particularly interesting ceiling, just flat gray paint. The bedroom that Tommy had been assigned in the Whitehouse wasn’t even decorated, it was a guest room at best. </p><p> </p><p>Frankly, the whole Whitehouse was a guest room. Tubbo had only been staying in the thing because the homes were still not ready in new L’Manberg and Tommy was only there because Tubbo had invited him after the events of the day. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy wasn’t being clingy. He did not stay because he didn’t want to be alone. </p><p> </p><p>He was staying for Tubbo. Yeah, for Tubbo to make sure that his friend wasn’t overworking himself with the new job. Getting enough sleep and all that jazz. </p><p> </p><p>Except, Tommy was the one who had found himself sleepless that night. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy blinked his eyes a few times and then rubbed them. Blinking even burned slightly as his eyelids tried to soothe his dried pupils. Caked on sleep hung to the edges of his eyes and rubbing it out just made Tommy remember how long it had been. It felt like they had been open for days, which wasn’t far from the truth. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since the 16th, maybe even earlier. </p><p> </p><p>If he did sleep, his dreams were too full of- well, Dream. And Wilbur. And Schlatt. </p><p> </p><p>Okay, they were definitely not dreams, they were nightmares. Images, words, memories of death and destruction put on as a personal play for him one-night-only. There was never a repeat showing, if anything, the nightmares only got worse. He wasn’t sure why, but his mind kept finding convoluted ways of making them more heart-breaking and deadly. </p><p> </p><p>At this point, his dreams had strayed so far from the truth of what happened, he couldn’t even discern fact from fiction. One time Schlatt had made <em> him</em> kill Tubbo- even though afterward he knew that he never would have- another time Dream had killed all of the original L’Manberg crew in front of him as a warning before the revolution had even happened. </p><p> </p><p>Though, the dreams did stick pretty close to things said.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy couldn’t stop hearing Wilbur, over and over in his head, repeating his paranoid ravings as if to ingrain them into Tommy. Marching mantras of betrayal and chaos. </p><p> </p><p>Even daylight wasn’t an escape, it only took one word or action to plunge him into a dark pit of remembrance. Someone could say something during the day that reminded him of Wilbur and it just started another cycle of remembering, wanting to forget, repressing, and then relief only to remember something else and start whole thing over again. Tommy did not want to hear anymore <em> let’s be the bad guys</em> for the rest of his life. </p><p> </p><p>But, alas, we do not get the things we want. Recovery is hardly something that one can force into submission. Healing is a delicate journey and must be nurtured along the way, its winds changing from one instant to the next. Hardly linear, one must flow with it, not fight against it. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy was a fighter. Nothing came easy to him and everything had to be as he wanted it. Strange, yes, but not unexpected. </p><p> </p><p>Throughout his life, he had always felt the need to earn everything. He had to <em> earn</em> Phil’s love. He had to <em> earn</em> his tools. Anything else just felt like pity. </p><p> </p><p>Such is growing up without the knowledge that you can give and receive things without any reason at all. You do not need to be deserving to be treated with kindness. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, however, Tommy viewed everything with the weight of a thousand suns. Dream’s slightly irritated sigh? Overanalyzed to the point of anxiety. Phil’s fancy cake he had made for his birthday? Overanalyzed to the point of thinking himself unworthy.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing was ever <em> just</em> a gift. </p><p> </p><p>He had never been taught otherwise and was content to suffer from this mindset as long as it protected him. </p><p> </p><p>When it came down to it- when Tommy decided that someone had truly <em> earned</em> his trust- there was no stopping him. He would follow them to the ends of the earth with unwavering loyalty. </p><p> </p><p>Few had earned this level of devotion, but those that did deserved it. </p><p> </p><p>At least Tommy had thought so. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur had been on that list once. </p><p> </p><p>When everyone else had turned against the man, Tommy had remained by his side. When even Tubbo- who Tommy felt equally loyal to- had suggested to Tommy that Wilbur was a lost cause, Tommy had refused to listen. He knew Wilbur could be saved. </p><p> </p><p>...he <em> thought </em> he knew Wilbur could be saved. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had tried <em> so hard</em> to pull Wilbur out of his self-destructive spiral but nothing had worked. Reflecting on this made Tommy worry that his whole system of relationships was flawed. But whenever he got close to realizing that maybe loyalty and love are more complicated than just who is marginally kind to you, Tommy pushed the thoughts back. It was far easier not to change at all, no matter how much it might hurt him. </p><p> </p><p>He sighed and slowly got out of bed. Three a.m.? Basically morning anyway in the scheme of things. </p><p> </p><p>It was still dark out in L’Manberg, but Tommy didn’t feel like turning on any lights; he didn’t want to disturb Tubbo. At least one of them was getting sleep. </p><p> </p><p>Coming down into the main room, Tommy saw that the fireplace was still glowing with a few embers. It only took a few pokes and the fire was roaring again. He put in a couple more logs just in case. </p><p> </p><p>Just because it was dark didn’t mean Tommy couldn’t see <em> anything. </em> He was still young- but as he would tell anyone, he’s not a child- and the fireplace provided enough light for him to navigate to the kitchen. Stretching his arms and back, Tommy began weeding through the many cabinets trying to find something to eat. Eventually, he found a bag of marshmallows and a tin of chocolate hidden in the back of one and rubbed his hands together slyly. </p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t be missed. Probably. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy took out the powdered mix and bag, popping a white cube into his mouth. The marshmallows were still soft so he assumed that they were likely edible. Heating up water proved surprisingly difficult as it took him a while to find a pot. Whoever organized this kitchen was not interested in efficiency because Tommy ended up finding most pots and other cooking tools in a closet on the outside wall of the kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s dumb,” he muttered, removing a pot anyway and taking it back to the kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>Luckily for hot chocolate, the water doesn’t need to be boiling, just warm. It only took a few minutes for the water to bubble and Tommy poured it into a cup. </p><p> </p><p>The spoons were much easier to find than the pots had been, as they were just in a drawer near the sink. Tommy put easily double the serving size of both the mix and the marshmallows into the cup and stirred. </p><p> </p><p>Taking out his communicator, he saw the time was only three-thirty a.m. now and there was still no one else awake. Tommy took the warm cup in his hands and walked back into the room with the fireplace to set it on the bare concrete floor. He was about to sit down next to it when he noticed the enderchest by the door.  </p><p> </p><p>His eyes moved back and forth between the fire and the chest. Finally, he shrugged and walked over to the chest and opened it, finding all his personal items along with the piles of letters safe. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s organization immediately came to mind and Tommy decided to do something similar. Well, not really. He was too impatient to actually go through them all, but he could search for keywords. Taking out letters one by one and scanning them, Tommy hunted for one name in particular. </p><p> </p><p>His own. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo had said that he had a stack all about Tommy in his enderchest, so he assumed that he would find at least a few in his own half as well. The whole process didn’t take more than a minute before Tommy one with his name. Pleased, he took out the letter and closed the chest.</p><p> </p><p>Settling into a comfortable criss-cross applesauce, Tommy blew on his hot chocolate and opened the letter. He took a sip of the drink before anything else and let the warm, bittersweet taste hang on his tongue. It was calming, a nice distraction from Ghostbur, from the funeral, from all of his responsibilities of the day. </p><p> </p><p>Here, that night, Tommy was alone, but he was at peace. The thoughts that had occupied his tired mind preventing him from sleeping finally seemed to fade. Who knew something so simple as a comfort drink could actually improve someone’s state of mind?</p><p> </p><p>With newfound courage, Tommy set down the drink and picked up the letter instead. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>C </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s been a few days.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Both from my last letter and from the festival.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy flinched as if he had been struck, dropping the letter, any fuzzy feelings from the hot cocoa disappearing. A creeping feeling of worry settled over him instead and he grew nauseous at the sight of Wilbur’s handwriting. </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t realized it at first, but looking at the first lines again, Tommy recognized a change in his brother’s handwriting as the crazed sort of tension he had gained around the time of Pogtopia. It was still in calligraphy, but it was jerky, violent, and contained an element of panicked urgency. </p><p> </p><p>Handwriting, like vocal cues, can provide a glimpse into someone’s innermost thoughts. It’s especially clear when the person reading the handwriting has seen the writer’s words before, as was the case between Tommy and Wilbur. Writing was a huge part of Wilbur’s life whether it was song lyrics, poems, or something else so much so that it had been an art form for the man. Tommy knew that Wilbur viewed his songs as an escape- or even an outlet- to really express how he was feeling. The songs carried meaning, sure, but the lyrics as well. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy read the lyrics and knew they carried weight, but the writing itself did too. Wilbur didn’t know how much of his emotions his handwriting betrayed, but Tommy did. </p><p> </p><p>And now came the hard part. </p><p> </p><p>He could stop now. Tommy could fold up the letter and put it back in the chest for another day. He wouldn’t half to deal with whatever trauma he knew that this letter would stir up. </p><p> </p><p>The hot chocolate steamed at him, and he snatched it and took another, larger, sip. Its calming effect had lessened somewhat, but Tommy still felt some of the tension in his shoulders dissolve as the cocoa powder had in the water. His mind suggested dark hypotheses about what the letter might contain and Tommy finally registered that he wouldn’t know unless he continued reading. Even if he put away the letter right then and there, the fear of what it <em> could</em> contain would give him no rest.</p><p> </p><p>Some part of him wanted to keep reading too, to try and understand. Every letter he read like this led him closer to his brother- toward whomever his brother had become. The only reason he had become so attached to solving this mystery in the first place had been because he believed that it would somehow mend the fracture between him and his brother that he had not been able to cross in life. Maybe if he understood why Wilbur did what he did Tommy would be able to move on. </p><p> </p><p>Because despite what he tried to tell others, Tommy was not over his brother’s death. In fact, out of anyone, Wilbur’s death had latched deep, painful talons into Tommy that he could not shake. </p><p> </p><p>These letters were the answer. A way to find Wilbur again. A way to hear Wilbur again.</p><p> </p><p>A way to hear what Wilbur would never tell him. </p><p> </p><p>All of these realizations went through Tommy’s head as he sat there drinking his hot cocoa like a long line of dominoes. Causally, one after the next, without his interference. All it took was one tap and the whole epiphany came crashing down.</p><p> </p><p>He needed to figure out this mystery. </p><p> </p><p>He <em> had</em> to. </p><p> </p><p>Otherwise, Tommy didn’t know what he was going to do with himself. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know what he was going to end up doing <em> to </em> himself.  </p><p> </p><p>Tommy let out a long exhale and set down the cup, once again picking up the letter, but carefully this time like it was a bomb rather than just a piece of paper. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> C </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s been a few days. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Both from my last letter and from the festival.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m sure you would like news of the destruction I caused- though I cannot tell anymore, your recent opinions on the matter have seemed more and more alien to me- but I will regretfully inform you that L’Manberg still stands. At one point you would have supported me with kind words of revenge and retribution, but I’m not sure you would anymore. TELL ME. In the return letter, tell me, C, are you on my side. Are you? Are you really? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What I’m doing is right, I don’t care if they think I’m the bad guy and, at some point, you would’ve agreed with me. You would have told me to follow my heart.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And right now, my heart’s singing for the complete and utter destruction of the place that destroyed me.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Destroyed my home. (L’Manberg isn’t my home, and it never was, I was just a fool with a dream. You were right, you know? it’s all useless in the end. Like ideas for a melody of a song being abandoned because no song would ever be good enough for the composer. I could never write something good enough. Oh, my unfinished symphony) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TELL ME I’M WRONG. Do it, I dare you. That’s what everybody else has been saying these past few days anyway.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I can’t trust Tubbo, even though he died at the festival (nothing important, it was just a life. He’s still got one.) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike> <em> C, should I feel bad for not feeling anything?  </em> </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> NO, I shouldn’t. He may have been our spy on the inside but he was never really on MY side. He’ll be useful so I won’t send him away, but I know that he would leave the second I show any weakness. Everyone around me is just a means to an end now, I don’t care.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I WILL destroy L’Manberg, I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to hurt.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy even turned against me. I got TNT from Dream and the kid tried to shoot me! He tried to get me to stop, why? For what? How does he not understand? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> C, why does everyone I love betray me?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy’s a fool, just like I was.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike> <em> I just hope he doesn’t turn out like me.  </em> </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Well, sooner or later the world’s going to beat the truth into him if it hasn’t yet. People are just horrible, there’s no way of getting around it. Friendships are fake and inevitably break when you realize that the other person isn’t perfect.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh no, how dare they be human! How dare they have more depth than a triangle drawn on a piece of paper!  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Why can’t they understand that this is what I want! Who cares if it’s not perfectly right? Who cares if a country is gone? It never mattered in the first place.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You’re the only one who can understand.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I just want a way out, C. I know what I said, but now I just want out. Please, I just want peace. I just want it to stop. I want to stop feeling like this. I’m so cold again. In a different way than just temperature.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please, C, tell me you understand? Please tell me I’m not alone in this godforsaken world? I can’t be alone, please, I can’t take it.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please, C.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It hurts.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It hurts so much I can’t breathe. I’m trying to write this and I just can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. It feels like something is pressing down on my chest. I can’t breathe.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I don’t know what to do.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Help. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please, help. Tell me what to do.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You have to tell me what to do.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please tell me I’m wrong. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I can’t go on like this.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I can’t.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I can’t. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I can’t. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You’re my only friend left.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Standing in a rush, Tommy furiously crushed the letter into a little ball and threw it into the fire. He stood there breathing heavily for a few seconds, only realizing once he felt something wet land on his hand that he was crying. Touching his cheek, he felt their tracks down his face and knew that at some point during the letter he had started crying and he not even known it because he had been so focused on the letter. </p><p> </p><p>Some cruel fascination had gripped him from the second he had started reading and not let him go until he finished that last line. He had been completely entranced with Wilbur's manic writing in terrifying intimacy with the broken man.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy just watched as the letter was consumed in flames and faded into ash. Part of him laughed, wondering if C was happy that they finally got their wish of the letters being burned. </p><p> </p><p>The letter was gone. Its words would never again be read. No one would know. </p><p> </p><p>Except for Tommy, who could still see every line of the letter when he blinked as if they had been burned into his mind by a branding stick. Poetic, no? Destroying the one thing you never want to see again only to realize that you have now made it your burden to bear alone? </p><p> </p><p>Yes, no one would ever read that letter, but Tommy could not un-read it. </p><p> </p><p>Unbidden, a memory rose into Tommy’s mind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Tommy?” Tubbo had sounded worried, why had he been worried? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Please just take it, I trust you. I want to give it to you, there’s no one better to guard it.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tubbo reached out and hesitantly took Mellohi from Tommy. “Tommy… I don’t-” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Tubbo, you’re my only friend left.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Clenching his fists, Tommy just took breath after breath, trying to calm whatever storm was brewing in his heart. No more tears were falling yet he felt emptier than ever before as if the tears had taken something from him as they fell. He felt like he was missing a piece of his heart, no… his soul? Can a person ever not be whole? Is it only our perception of ourselves that feels incomplete? </p><p> </p><p>Has he lost something? Has he lost himself?</p><p> </p><p>Tommy clutched suddenly at his chest, pain pulsing from beneath his ribcage. In all honesty, Tommy’s first thought was that he was having a heart attack. Shooting pains spread throughout his bones and he fell onto his knees desperately clawing at the spot where it felt like a knife had been stabbed into him. The pain spread throughout his entire body, through every bone and every muscle of every limb. He felt the pain intensify as it hit his fingertips and, then, like it was never there in the first place, the phantom pains vanished. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t dare move for a few seconds in fear that the pain would return until he noticed that his hands were shaking like leaves in a rough wind. </p><p> </p><p>Trying to get them to stop, Tommy wrung his hands together but they seemed to move without his control. No matter what he did, his hands still shook violently. </p><p> </p><p>What you’ll learn if you are unlucky enough to ever find yourself in a similar situation, is that in times of stress, especially those where you are stressed without an immediate threat, human bodies tend to go into overdrive. Learning to calm those reactions takes time, energy, and experience. Though Tommy had dealt with stress before, this was an entirely new kind. The adrenaline that had flooded his system was in control for the moment, and all he could do was wait it out. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy seemed to figure this out and tried to relax. He was still breathing quickly, and his heart still felt weak from whatever had just happened. Moving into a tight hug of his knees, he closed his eyes and tried to just… <em> be there. </em> Ignore whatever had just happened, ignore the letter, ignore the fact that-</p><p> </p><p>Ignore the thoughts until you can properly deal with them. </p><p> </p><p>When he finally opened his eyes again, they became caught on the remaining scraps of paper that smoldered in the fireplace. The letter was gone, it could not hurt him anymore... but the wound it had inflicted was still there. </p><p> </p><p>What Tommy failed to think of was whether the letter had opened a new wound or re-opened an old one. </p><p> </p><p>The conversation that he had recalled was from yesterday. After Quackity had been caught up in all the letter’s business, Tommy had pulled Tubbo aside and explained to his best friend that he wanted Tubbo to watch over Mellohi. He knew that their friendship had been strained by their conflict over Wilbur, and Tommy wanted to make sure that Tubbo knew he was who Tommy was choosing. Tommy would never betray him. Tubbo was more important than anything else. Everyone else had left him. </p><p> </p><p>The true question that had been bothering Tommy finally reared its ugly head. </p><p> </p><p>Was he just the next Wilbur?</p><p> </p><p>Would Tommy’s fate be inevitably the same?</p><p> </p><p>And even more terrifying: was Wilbur right when he said to trust no one? Were those paranoid monologues actually true?</p><p> </p><p>No, they can’t be. Tommy thought, pulling even further into his own embrace, wishing it was Wilbur hugging him, even Phil. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You’re my only friend left.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s thoughts just kept circling over and over the same thing. No, no, no, no. </p><p> </p><p>He refused to believe that Wilbur was right. And, you know what? Maybe Wilbur <em>was</em> right, maybe Tommy is a fool for trusting people, but Tommy would rather die the fool than become whatever Wilbur had become. </p><p> </p><p>But these firm statements did not erase the thoughts that still nagged at the back of his brain, some in Wilbur’s own voice. </p><p> </p><p>What if you are the bad guy? What if they <em> are </em> all lying to you? You’re useless anyway, you’ve just brought down every group that has welcomed you. They were so nice and you just ruined everything. You’re better off on your own, where you can’t hurt anyone. Were you the one who caused Wilbur’s death? You should’ve been there for him. If you had never been here then Wilbur would still be alive. Why was he even nice to you? Why would Tubbo want to be friends with you? He doesn’t want to be friends. You’re not his friend. </p><p> </p><p>Again, Tommy pushed back against each of these, repeating that: no, I tried my best. Tubbo is my friend. I am important. I am Tommy, and I am always in the right. </p><p> </p><p>His hands were shaking again, and Tommy tried to pick up his mug of hot cocoa- that was now more like lukewarm cocoa- but couldn’t keep it steady. So, instead, he put the mug back down and curled up next to the fireplace, just sitting there silently waiting for dawn. </p><p> </p><p>The little burnt pieces of paper were still sitting there as a reminder of what he’d done- not that he needed one, of course, Tommy was sure that he’d never forget. The paper was also a reminder of what Wilbur had become.</p><p> </p><p>Burnt remnants of someone who had once been a brother. </p><p> </p><p>Something that could not be repaired. </p><p> </p><p>You could tape a shredded piece of paper back together, but there was no fixing a burnt one. </p><p> </p><p>Healing was impossible for Wilbur. </p><p> </p><p>And Tommy worried that that meant it was impossible for him too. </p><p> </p><p>When Tubbo woke up in the morning and came into the main room expecting to be alone, he found Tommy sitting in front of a dying fire with a half-drunk cup of hot chocolate next to him. </p><p> </p><p>Staring. </p><p> </p><p>Just staring at the embers. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy didn’t even look at Tubbo as he slowly came over and sat next to his friend. Placing his hand on Tommy’s knee, Tubbo stayed with him for a few minutes and just watched the flames dance in the reflection of Tommy’s eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s dead eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Eyes that screamed of an internal battle Tubbo could never know. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo sat with him, comforting his friend in the only way he knew how. By just being there. </p><p> </p><p>When Tommy finally decided to get up, Tubbo didn’t ask questions- he knew Tommy wouldn’t answer them anyway- but just titled his head in a quiet, gentle question of: ‘are you okay?’</p><p> </p><p>Tommy met his eyes and gave the slightest nod. ‘Not really, but I’m alright.’ He left without a spoken word between them. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo turned to the fireplace and cup Tommy had left sitting there. </p><p> </p><p>Fire is great for destroying evidence, but it is not always all-consuming. </p><p> </p><p>But if Tubbo <em> did </em> see the small, burnt shreds of paper in the fireplace and knew where they came from, he didn’t say anything.</p><p> </p><p>There were some things, he decided, that were just too personal.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, we’re getting into it now bois.<br/>I think of this chapter as the end of the first grouping. Set up is done *claps*</p><p>Like always, comment if you’re comfortable! Your words give me LIFEEEE, wooooo &lt;3<br/>(/whisper if you want me to not interact with your comment if you’d rather not get a response from me)<br/>Kudos and bookmarks are also always appreciated</p><p>Okay, news time.<br/>As you may be already aware, this work is now part of a series! Yay!<br/>Series is called “Of Shapes and Songs”<br/>Check out the companion piece to this one if you want. It's called “A Degenerate Triangle is Just a Line (So How Did it Become Both?)” if you want to get a little more juicy backstory<br/>[reading both is not necessary for the understanding of either, they are meant as compliments to each other]</p><p>In other news, this coming week is gonna be absolutely crazy for me and I may not have time to update either of these works.<br/>Very important things happening in my personal life and I will be incredibly stressed<br/>Wish me luck o7 </p><p>Thank you so much for reading!<br/>Stuff happened in this chapter, how are we feeling? Lmk in the comments</p><p>Next chapter: (I am so excited for this one)<br/>He never got home</p><p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>Signing off for now,<br/>Tuli &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. he never got home (pt. 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Past Technoblade gets philosophical about things like ice, family, betrayal, and… oh, yeah, also hell.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*deep breath*<br/>I SOMEHOW SURVIVED MY STRESSFUL WEEK, POG<br/>Anyway, welcome back. Here’s chapter 10</p>
<p>CW:<br/>discussion of hell/somewhat religious commentary<br/>(Techno will be analyzing a circle of hell from Dante’s Inferno)<br/>small mention of suicidal thoughts</p>
<p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was very cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno thought that he would’ve been more prepared for this considering he lived in the arctic on SMP Earth for quite a long time and it had been much colder there. Dream’s directions had brought him to a snow biome that was freezing at best; there was no way it reached the temperature the Antarctic Empire had been. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, when Techno had first journeyed to the south pole, he had been much more prepared than he was now. It felt like he was all the way back in his childhood when he had been forced to train in the courtyard with no jacket while it was heavily snowing. It was a chill you couldn’t escape… as if your bones had become ice themselves. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Currently, he had iron armor, a few diamond tools, and enough food to last a week or so, but no practical arctic gear. He cursed himself for being so foolish as to forget basic nomadic etiquette, which is especially important when one is changing climates. Sighing, he realized that he really should’ve known better but wouldn’t admit that the reason he had failed to think ahead was that he was still dealing with what he had found in Pogtopia. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno suddenly felt the weight of the bag on his back increase as if the letters had turned into rocks. He shook his head and tried to ignore his sentimental slip-up, opting instead to return to worrying about the cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s much easier to deal with physical problems than emotional ones, he decides. Not that this was a new opinion, of course. Techno had always been better at dealing with physical fights rather than the complicated emotional webs of families. In battle, those that run away are called cowards, but what should those who run away from emotional battles be called? Are they not as much of a coward as their counterpart?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno stopped and took a breath, clearing his mind of every thought that had been bouncing around in it since he had learned of Wilbur’s death. They were important to address, yes, but he could do that whenever. Right now the focus needed to be on simply surviving long enough to deal with it properly when he wasn’t in danger of dying to hypothermia. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The simple, red cloak that he always wore provided some barrier against the cold, but it was definitely not enough. He knew it wouldn’t be enough when night came, and by looking at the clouds brewing on the horizon, he knew it wouldn’t be enough to protect him from the coming storm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> But Technoblade neva dies- can’t even- E- E- E- Technoblizzard- what a loser- I’m going to mc- you fool- E- did you seriously forget- Techno! You need to- mans is gonna die in- TECHNOPOPSICLE- dairy queen- E- imagine being bad- guys, he’s from the nether and- E- E- Technofrozen 2- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite the seriousness of the context, Chat’s new nicknames made him laugh, and looking at it humorously was a healthy distraction from the obsessive worry that had begun to occupy his thoughts. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Technoblade tried to remain calm and collected under pressure, and he did... most of the time. He was always somewhat worried about everything- he wouldn’t deny that- but he tried not to outwardly show it. Additionally, he knew that this defensive nature had saved him on many occasions, so he was not entirely opposed to it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But in times like now, where things could go very wrong very fast, anxiously obsessing over everything that <em> could </em> go wrong wouldn’t do anything except prepare him for the worst. If he did die out here, he wasn’t sure what would happen and that was what made him as worried as he was. It was natural to fear the unknown, but he just wished he didn’t have to fear anything at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe he would just return to the world spawn, but then he would have to deal with Dream again, which he wanted to avoid if possible. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thus, he would just have to not die. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Simple, right? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Easier said than done, as Techno wasn’t sure what he needed to do because of the overwhelming amount of issues currently leading him toward an inevitable- and rather painful- death. What people cheering “Technoblade never dies!” from the stands during competitions didn’t know was that Technoblade <em> could</em> die, he was just very good at working out a different solution. Being a warrior and a strategic genius made it so that Techno rarely had to die, and he didn’t plan on losing that reputation anytime soon. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was how he usually went about it: by breaking up the problems facing him into smaller, more manageable obstacles to overcome. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>First, there was the cold generally. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Second, there was the night. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And third, being the most concerning, the storm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno decided to save worrying about the storm for later after concluding that he wouldn’t actually be in it for another day of travel or so. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, he <em> could</em> deal with the cold properly once setting up a camp for the night. There were trees around the area for a fire and high enough snowbanks that he could probably create a dugout shelter. Surely once that was finished he would be able to raise his core body temperature enough to survive. That was it! He could just make a shelter and tackle both of his current issues. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright, Chat. We’re hangin’ out here for the night.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Technocamp- E- E- spooky storytime- still going to- place your bets now- Techno, you might- he’s going to die isn’t he- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bruh. Technoblade never dies, remember?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the sun went down over the next few hours, Techno worked on digging out a hole into one of the snowbanks and filling its floor with branches as a layer to protect him from the cold ground while sleeping. Overall, the shelter was very basic, but it would serve its purpose. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Getting a campfire going was easy enough because he had gotten some flint and steel before leaving the main SMP. He used the main fire to light a few torches that he placed around the area in the hope that they might dissuade mobs from disturbing him during the night. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, when the first stars began to shimmer in the dark sky, Techno unrolled a sleeping bag- that was more like the sheets to a bed without the bedframe- and curled up in the snowy room to attempt and sleep. It was a very simple space, Techno near the back facing the opening with a diamond sword propped against the wall next to him. He debated taking off his armor but decided against it after remembering that a death here wouldn’t permanently kill him, but that he might prefer a perma-death rather than facing Dream again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno wrapped the blanket around himself and began to think. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The admin was absolutely suspicious, there was no doubt about that. How did Dream even know about the letters? If they had been sent through normal means, like maybe messages over a communicator network, Techno guessed that Dream could’ve read them by operator privileges, but they <em> weren’t </em> sent through normal means. By all accounts, there was no way the admin should’ve known about the letters he had been exchanging with Wilbur. This fact left two solutions, each of which worried Techno for different reasons. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>One: Dream somehow caught Wilbur writing one, or was snooping around Pogtopia and had found either the letters or the box and deduced the truth from them. Techno didn’t think this was likely, but he knew that Dream was very persistent when he decided to investigate something. However, the way that Dream had explained the letters hadn’t sat right with Techno. The admin had said something about how it was his business to know everything that entered or exited his server, the problem was, those letters had never entered or left the server. That’s not how it worked, which was why Techno had to beg Wilbur to burn or destroy the letters in any way possible. It wasn’t up to him. So, this meant Dream was lying about something or knew more than he let on. There was also the possibility that the admin simply didn’t know the full context of the letters and made a mistake, but Techno didn’t feel comfortable giving his rival the benefit of the doubt. He knew Dream better than that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which led him to the second option. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two: Wilbur told Dream about the letters. This one worried him the most. While Techno could handle an overly controlling Dream, he didn’t know what he would do if the reason that Dream knew was because he had been told. Techno had made it abundantly clear- or at least had tried to- to Wilbur that these letters needed to remain secret. Anyone finding out would cause a huge chain of events that Techno was definitely not ready to deal with. To be honest, he thought he’d never have to deal with it, <em> and</em> he’d never <em> want</em> to. If the letters, if his mistake- not a mistake, he tried to correct himself- and if his relationship with Wilbur and… and the rest of them remained unknown for the rest of his natural life, Techno would be happy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Mr. interfering green man seemed to have other plans in mind. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Referencing Techno being an emperor? He just hoped that it had been a coincidence and that Dream didn’t know the power he held over the warrior with that knowledge. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luck was not on his side. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno sighed and rubbed his eyes, hoping that by some miracle Dream had other things to deal with and would forget Techno, though he knew that this would never happen. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> We’re bored Techno! Could- hey, man- I want to go to bed, guys, please- E- E- we’ve been here for hours, let the man- SHUT THE FUCK UP- why don’t we- surely there’s someone else we can- WOAH, just caaaalm down- E- I just got here, don’t end- let the man sleep-  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Guys, I’m tired. I know I joke that I don’t sleep, but please.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Hey, Techno. Could you read us a letter? We’ve seen you writing them before, but most of us aren’t really interested in that sort of thing so we didn’t watch. It was kinda boring, but we like hearing you talk and we all miss him as well. </em> </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno did miss Wilbur, but he did not feel like getting emotional again. “Chat-” He began exhaustedly, but was interrupted by them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> PLEEEAASE, TECHNO- just one?- you can live out the dream of- Techno, we promise that- if you read a- Technoauthor- that’s a dumb- we won’t bother you anymore if- pleaseeeeeeeeee-</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Getting the gist that if he read to them they’d settle down and let him sleep, Techno frowned and asked, “if I do this for you, will you leave me alone?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> YES- please, techno- we will- Yo, POG- yes, techno- we promise- gosh, we sound like little kids- I’ll shut up- wait, aren’t some of us kids?- I’m not a child, I don’t need a bedtime story- SHUT UP, we want to hear him read- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine. You get one letter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He heard Chat start cheering and turned to the backpack sitting next to him and began to rummage around in it to find where he had left the letters. Eventually, Techno settled on removing one that he had seen earlier: <em> Musings on the Cold.</em> Cringing slightly at the title his past self had chosen, he closed his backpack, taking one last look at the broken box sitting at the bottom. It didn’t matter anymore. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Technoblade sighed and unfolded the letter, beginning to read. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Preface: </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Every time I write one of these, I only think of you. At first, these were an escape of my own. I had wanted to be an author at one point, do you remember? But now I find myself trying to organize these ramblings so that they’re coherent to a reader, not just as a vent for myself.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Is that weird? Okay, now that I’m writing this on paper I’m sure that I’m overthinking and you’re laughing at me now. You were the one who asked to see these after I casually mentioned that I wrote reflections like this.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I feel like a philosopher, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I always thought they were kinda dumb for writing down their thoughts and then publishing them like they’ve found some sort of truth.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I would like to warn you that you will not find any truth in my meditations. If you try to read into them and I get back a sappy letter about how you’ve analyzed my writing and think I’m depressed or something, I will kill you. I'm fine.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Okay, now I sound like an edgy main character. I’m just gonna let you get to the body of my letter now.   </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Musings on the Cold: </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I think that it is very interesting how most people hear the word 'hell' and think of a fiery pit of suffering. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure if there is a hell it’s got plenty of suffering, I’ve myself just never been sold on the idea of it being full of fire.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Personally, ice has always hurt me more than fire. This may be because I am technically ¼ piglin and piglins are from our own physical hell that we call the Nether, but I think it’s also important to note exactly how each hurts us.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Fire is indeed painful, as is lava, but ice hurts and then stays hurting. There’s a reason why you can be burnt by both fire and ice (yes, Wilbur, ice burns are a thing. Yes, Wilbur you got a really bad one once that I had to heal). Fire is more passionately painful, while ice is slow but persistent. It always feels like you will eventually be freed from fire- it’s just a temporary pain- but ice, ice on the other hand feels like it's settled into your very soul. It hurts in a way I cannot explain. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m not scared of many things, but I do not like how it feels to be cold. I’m not even going to address the coldness that one can feel emotionally.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Anger is fiery, but the lonely resignation associated with an emotional cold? That terrifies me.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> It just feels so empty.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I don’t like the cold.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Anyway, where I was going with this was that I read a book a few weeks ago and couldn’t help applying it to myself.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> In it, a man traveled through different rings of hell and detailed the people there and why they were where they were.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I find it particularly noteworthy that the punishments weren’t all fire and brimstone like people tend to think.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Specifically, I was interested in his description of the innermost layer, the ninth circle. I am skipping quite far into it, though I am not brushing past the fact that- again, if this exists at all, which I don’t believe it does- I would probably meet the requirements of many of the circles before the ninth with the other sins I’ve committed. I’m not sure that it’s possible for a true warrior to also be pure of heart, it certainly wasn’t an option for me.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The ninth circle is for traitors.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The first ring: traitors to their kin, known as Caїna. Where do I begin here, how I betrayed my birth family or how I betrayed my chosen family? But for this, I’d also have to ask whether you all were truly my family or not. Was it something I could’ve chosen, and, more importantly, is it something I would choose again? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno paused and took a shaking breath. The answer was yes, a begging, <em> desperate </em> yes. Yes, yes, yes, he would choose them over and over and over again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This reflection was broken by Chat who started aww-ing and sending hearts at him. He tried to express displeasure on his face but found himself smiling against his will. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rolling his eyes and trying to ignore his emotional- and pathetic- realization, Techno read more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The first ring’s punishment is to be immersed up to one’s neck in ice.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I would hate that, though I wonder if I would be deserving.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Number one- it’s cold, which would hurt, and number two- they’re not able to move. I would probably lose it within days. Physically moving helps me think and keeps me out of my own head, which is a thing I think we all should avoid. We become too invested in our own fantasies and forget what reality actually is.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I don’t want to lose myself like that again.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Okay, this is not supposed to be a confessional.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Moving on, the second ring: made up of traitors to their faction, known as Antenora. I do not understand why this is such a high offense. To act against one’s country is not always a bad thing, I would even go so far as to say that betraying a country is sometimes the best thing you can do.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> As you already know, this ring is also very applicable to me. I know what I did and don’t regret it.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You deserve an explanation one day. I know you have said that you don’t want one right now, but eventually, you will need to hear my story. So, when you are ready, I will bear my soul for you and you can tell me whether it is white.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Funny. It’s never as simple as that, is it? We get so caught up in the black versus the white that we forget most things are gray. Regardless, I hope my story has a happy ending… or even an ending at all.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> This second ring also has the punishment of being immersed in ice, however, these traitors are not given movement of their neck. How cruel can this get? At least those of the first ring were able to turn their heads away if they wished.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I raise the same complaint against this ring as the first. I do not think I would survive, and I do not mean in the physical sense.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I would lose my mind. I don’t know how I know, but I am so sure that these punishments would destroy me. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Now, the third ring: Ptolomea, the traitors against their guests. This one seems a bit more difficult for us to understand in a modern sense. However, I always think back to Greek and Roman mythology where guest-friendship was incredibly important, so much so that Zeus himself would strike down those that broke the covenant of it.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> A host is meant to protect their guests, to offer them every hospitality they desire.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Even if you were not my family, I should’ve treated you better.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I should’ve treated everyone better.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I can think of everyone I’ve ever betrayed in this way to this day. I’ll never forget.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Although, I think the most impactful trait of this ring is the punishment delivered to traitors of this kind.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I know I said this wasn’t a confessional, but I can’t help myself. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Wilbur, I’m sorry. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The punishment dealt to these prisoners of hell is similar to the ones before, with one tortuous difference.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> These people are held in ice, however, cannot stop crying. They are not even allowed true tears of grievance, the tears freeze before they can even leave their eyes. Thus, their eyes end up being frozen shut with ice of unexpressed misery.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike> <em> What really hit me about this circle is that </em> </strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strike> <em> Wilbur  </em> </strike>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Sorry, I don’t know how to write this.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I know you don’t know this, Wilbur, because I didn’t look back but... </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Wilbur, when I left you in the snow all those years ago, I was crying.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I haven’t cried since.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno stopped reading for a moment to consider his words. It was still true that Wilbur had been the only one able to make him cry since his childhood. When he was a kid he had cried a lot, but that was because of trauma he had long moved past. In his adult life, he had cried three times, the first was what he had referenced in this letter. The second time had been- </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t want to think about it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The third time he had cried was in Pogtopia. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t think he’d cry for a long time now. An unsettling feeling of numbness had settled over him instead. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno had been numb like this before and worried what it meant this time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sighing, he turned once again to the letter. Chat had fallen unnaturally silent. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I remember running away into the snow that night and just crying. I remember the wind cutting into me like thousands of tiny knives. I remember being in so much pain. I remember how much the tears hurt, how they froze against my eyes like nails into a coffin. I didn’t want to open them again, I wanted to shut my eyes and never wake up. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> It hurt so bad. Not just the tears. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> All I wanted was someone to help me, yet all I did was push you away. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>I was scared, I was angry, I was lonely. </em> <em>I was hurting and I wanted a solution. Any solution.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I wanted a way out. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> And I got one. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> So, yes, I can empathize with the traitors of this circle.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Finally, the fourth and last ring: Judecca, traitors to their benefactors. These people are fully submerged in ice.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Were you not a benefactor of mine? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Was Phil not one too? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Tommy even? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Why <strike>did</strike> do I hurt the people who help me? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You all saved me time and time again, but when it mattered most, I didn’t let you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Why didn’t I let you? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I can’t remember, Wilbur, and that scares me. I can’t remember why. I can’t remember who I was.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Does that mean I'm someone else? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Ah,</em> <em> the famous problem of the ship of Theseus. How much of myself can I lose and replace until I'm not myself anymore? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Maybe it would be better to simply freeze me in ice, that way I won’t ever be able to run away. I think it would be poetic justice for my story to end like that. I think Phil would find it justified as well.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Alone, frozen in time for eternity. Just what I wanted, isn't it?  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> But, Wilbur, even though I cannot remember the specifics, I know I don’t regret what I did. That scares me too. Should I regret it? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I cannot apologize to you for that. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The fact that I understand what I did was a betrayal and still do not feel remorse for it makes me think all the more that I belong in hell.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> But again, I say this as an atheist.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I know that there are the gods of the servers and whatever that give people admin powers, and I believe in them, I suppose.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> But I don’t believe in divine punishment.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I think we punish ourselves enough already.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Yours, </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> C </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno abruptly folded the letter shut and put it back in the backpack, saying, “well, I guess that’s the end of it, Chat.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chat reeled silently for a second and then started asking questions, but he just ignored them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t want to answer their questions and he certainly didn’t want to answer the ones popping up in his own head after reading his past self’s reflections. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Technoblade still didn’t know the answers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But... </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Did he really not know? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or is he just afraid of the answer?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ignorance is bliss, they always say. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But as Techno fell into a fitful sleep that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he had lost. It was tormenting, a hell in its own right, to think over one’s actions and not have an explanation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno was lost and had been for a long time. Physically, emotionally, mentally, he wasn’t sure anymore which. He was urgently grasping at strings hoping that eventually one was strong enough for him to pull himself from the pit he had dug himself into, but every time he felt like he was finally getting anywhere he would slip further into the lie, into the secrets… into darkness. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wilbur had the button to guide him, albeit it was not a good guide. But it was a light in the darkness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Technoblade had followed a glimmering torch into a deep, desolate cave only for it to go out and he himself to become blind and lost in a maze of inescapable tunnels. There was no light in his darkness. A sky without a single star.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt like the minotaur of that old myth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Imprisoned for something he couldn’t control, unable to see the sky's gleaming constellations.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wait, Techno realized, hanging on to his last thread of a thought before fading into sleep: I did control what happened. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was this his punishment? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he wondered- for the first time in many years- whether he had made a grave error.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Poggers, guys, gals, and non-binary pals.</p>
<p>Okay, here we go:<br/>Canon this week was nuts, feel free to scream in the comments.<br/>This chapter was very lore heavy, so also feel free to scream about it in the comments.<br/>As always, I will be responding to y’all, so start up a conversation if you’re comfortable, I’d love to hear what you’re thinking going forward. What do you think Techno did? What happened between him and Wilbur? Do you think Techno will survive the arctic?</p>
<p>In personal news, this week was somehow worse than I had expected, but now it is over, I am doing a little bit better.<br/>Thank you for being patient. Uploads for this story should be back to a few days in between instead of a week. I fully intend to use my new extra time to grind more of this out.<br/>Thank you for sticking with this story, or (if you’re new here) welcome! And I am so glad you’ve joined us for the journey &lt;3</p>
<p>And, SURPRISE! This chapter is part of a pair!<br/>This chapter: he never got home (pt. 1)<br/>Next chapter: you’ve got a new home (pt. 2)</p>
<p>The following chapter will continue where this one left off (mostly this was done because this chapter was getting very long and I had so much more to include, so when it reached a natural end of him falling asleep, I just decided to split the chapter so you could get an update faster)</p>
<p>Kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments are always appreciated. I cannot describe the joy it brings me to see people interested in this idea &lt;3<br/>I hope you all aren’t tired of hearing this (because I’m never going to stop saying it):<br/>thank you!</p>
<p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>Tuli &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. you've got a new home (pt. 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Present day Technoblade gets stuck in a blizzard and is saved by fate… or maybe destiny… wait, a horse?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Part two. CW: injury<br/>A lot of research went into this chapter including but not limited to: lessons in cold weather safety, cold weather survival, non-fatal injuries, info on hypothermia, horses’ symbolic meaning, taking care of horses and other livestock, and more!</p>
<p>Yes, I did research on what people do to protect animal’s hooves from the cold for this chapter, and I find the idea of Techno wearing fuzzy polo wraps like 1970’s leg warmers absolutely hilarious (if one of you were to draw Techno with them, I would love you forever)</p>
<p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “For most of your species existence, the horse has walked beside you. It is strange how some of you do not notice the significance of your beast of burden. Since the beginning, they have been regarded as sacred animals, especially by me. Like most things assigned a spiritual value, what the horse represents varies greatly and often carries contradictory symbolism. The specific meaning of a horse depends also on its context. Is this horse one you have raised since birth? Has this horse been treated well? Is this horse appearing at your most vulnerable moment? You can take the easy way out and assume that whatever happens in life is chance or coincidence, but, Techno, if you look a little deeper, you might see something else.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> To speak generally, horses represent life and death, light and darkness, good and evil. Makes no sense right? Wrong. Horses are your bringers of life, they were the first help you ever received. You rode them and they let you. People can view horses as tools all they want, but as I’m sure you understand, horses are not to be tamed without reason. Their friendship is earned. As well as helping you during life, it makes sense that horses would also guide you through death.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Not that you know anything about that, eh, Techno?” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> There was a pause. He heard a few echoing noises that sounded like metal against stone, then the voice spoke again. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"Horses are a type of psychopomp… in Greek mythology, psychopomps were said to be the spirits who led one through the house of the dead, Techno, you should know this. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Why can’t people understand that they deserve more respect than they are often given? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> In addition to the paradoxes of life and death, horses represent strength and control but also freedom. Sadly, horses are also used in war and have thus become too integral a part of it for me to reclaim them. You have found this fact out on your own, haven’t you?  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Regardless, horses have not lost their aspect of freedom. They will always symbolize travel and peace beside whatever horrors they bear in war. Life and death, war and peace. I am not surprised that you have forged such a close bond with horses during your time, they suit you.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Then, like an afterthought. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “And you suit them.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The color of the horse also carries great significance. White horses are usually regarded as symbols of purity and truth. Black horses are regarded as bringers of death and dark forces. Brown or golden horses are of vibrancy, energy, and the sun. When a horse is multicolored, you can combine these attributes to guess what-” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “No offense, but everything you’re sayin’ right now is goin’ right over my head. The meaning of the color of a horse? Give me a break... </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Why are you even telling me this?” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “I’m bored. It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do here. Plus, Techno, you might need this someday.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He laughed, feeling himself grab something heavy and swing it around a few times. The satisfying sound of something moving quickly through air serenaded his ears. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t remember what. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “The day I need to understand the meaning of the colors on a horse like I’m reading a tarot card is the day I die for real.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “That’s a dangerous thing to say to fate, Techno.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Technoblade woke up and sighed. He knew that he had dreamed, but as every second passed more and more knowledge of it vanished. He had been talking to someone, right? Something about horses? Why? Who had he been talking to? He had been doing something with his hands in the dream… moving something… what was it… had it even been real? Dreams were just amalgamations of his unconscious mind anyway, but he felt like this one had been important. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was frustrated but trying to remember only gave him an intense headache so he decided to think instead about the real world. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was still very cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At some point during the night, the fire had gone out. Techno had decided to ignore it and instead roll over and go back to sleep. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bad move. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The small shelter’s temperature had fallen back down rapidly; he had been wrong yesterday when he had guessed that the snow biome remained around freezing. It was definitely below now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno kept the sleeping bag wrapped around him as he crawled out from the snowdrift shelter and looked around. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a strange feeling in the air before a storm. For storms of lightning and rain, the air seems like it is energized with something beyond our comprehension. It’s like everything is humming, charged with electricity while waiting in rapt anticipation for the storm to break. Everything just feels wrong, and your impulse is to hunker down and hide. These evolutionary instincts help keep one safe from dangerous weather. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the case of a winter storm, however, it’s not a buzzed charge that permeates the air, but rather, a pull. Nature itself is holding its breath. Everything seems frozen in perfect silence. People understand that when the waves of an ocean return to the sea, it means there might be a tsunami coming. Winter weather is quite like that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least to Techno it was. He always felt like the snow on the ground wanted to return to the blizzard, waiting for its chance to transform from something gentle and beautiful into something destructive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wondered if he liked snow because it was like him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Don’t get him wrong, Techno definitely still hated the cold, but he did like snow. He liked the gentle way it would descend from the heavens and coat the ground like some sort of soft, comforting blanket to the earth. It looked so pristine as it settled onto the ground. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Undisturbed snow could hide any damages. Any dead leaves, felled trees, or holes would simply be covered and the world would be perfect once again. You could ignore the true ugliness of the world and just focus on the deceptive snow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It also hid the scarring of fires and explosions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno looked around at that thought. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but whatever it was wasn’t there… whoever it was? He shook his head to clear himself of an uncomfortable feeling slowly crawling up his spine. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wind had picked up considerably since yesterday, and yet another assumption from before was being proven wrong. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The storm was right in front of him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He guessed that he had hours until it was upon him, not days.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> That’s not good. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks, Chat,” He said sarcastically, returning to the shelter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno huffed a breath of air that appeared as a puff of vapor in front of him. Yeah, it was cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You’re welcome. Oh, is he awake? Yeah. Wow, this is kinda cool, I’ve never been here when no one else is. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry to break it to you, but that won’t be true for much longer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It always took Chat a few minutes to an hour to fully appear in the morning. He savored the quiet before it returned to the chaos. It was weird, actually being able to hear most of the comments from them without needing one voice to yell above the rest. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m surprised no one’s said you’re late yet. LATE. There it is. Wow, you really didn’t have to wait long on that one. L. Alright guys, before everyone else gets here, how do we help Techno? Well, I was thinking he could- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno let them fade into the background, smiling at the way that they seemed to be having a conversation of their own now trying to figure out what to do with the snow issue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sitting down once again on the boughs he had covered the floor of the den with, he took a deep breath.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay, there was definitely going to be a storm, and from the dark look of the clouds, it would likely be a big one. Maybe even blizzard level, which meant deep snow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which meant his hooves would be very cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno was part piglin, one-fourth to be precise. These genetic traits had expressed themselves in hooved legs like a satyr- but of a pig or boar instead of a goat- and a curly pink tail that he wouldn’t show anyone. Ever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hair may have also been pink, and people usually assumed that was because of his heritage, but it wasn’t. That was a whole story of its own that Techno didn’t want to tell, so he just let people believe it was natural. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He considered his armor. It was heavy and probably wouldn’t protect him from the cold that much. He took it off and placed it carefully to the side. In fact, he reflected, the armor might actually have made the cold worse because the metal was such a conductor rather than an insulator like his cloak.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wait, his cloak. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The top was definitely necessary at the moment to keep his core warm, but the bottom half that was meant more for appearance’s sake, namely intimidation, was absolutely unnecessary. But it still held the warming attributes as the rest of the cloak, meaning it could be used on its own. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno removed his cloak and replaced it by draping the sleeping bag over himself. The fabric looked aligned enough so that if he created a tear in it, the tear could be ripped horizontally across the cloak so that it would still be usable. He started the tear by holding the fabric taut and making a small cut with the diamond sword. The full cut was made by pulling the two sides of the cloak apart; he didn’t use the sword for the rest of it because Techno worried that it would actually make the tear more jagged than if he just used his hands. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It turned out that this method was the best as it produced a very straight rip in the threading of the cloak. Techno put the top half around himself again, feeling its changed weight. He fluffed up the fur around his neck and started working on the other section of fabric. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>First, he ripped it into two long segments. Then, with a piece per leg, put the insulating cloth around his hooves like he was making a polo wrap for a horse. He knew that the wrap itself would support his joints and hopefully also help with strength in the snow, while the thick material from the cloak would also protect his legs from the cold. By the time he was finished, each of his hooves was wrapped in velvety, red fabric. They felt warmer already. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sighed happily and tested out his weight on the wrapped hooves. Proudly, he felt the wraps work exactly as they should. Next, Techno started packing up his things. There were still a few embers in the fire which he used to light a torch that he wanted to carry with him. Not that a tiny light like that would help him during a whiteout, but he assumed he might also be able to use it to start a fire easily when he got to where he was going. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where was he going again?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hope had been to just wander until he reached a village or a cave or something to hunker down in. None of that had happened yet. He was still in a larger spruce forest with no sign of a village anywhere in the vicinity. When he had checked last night before going to bed, there had been no lights in any direction, which meant he just had to pick a random one and hope that he was getting somewhere. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With the storm on the horizon, finding some sort of proper shelter became more urgent. A village would be preferable, but Techno would take a cave at this point. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he exited the snowdrift shelter, Techno moved to the top of it and looked slowly around. The 360 view was beautiful… if one forgot the large storm clouds ominous hovering in the sky. He decided to head in the opposite way of the storm, hoping that it might give him a few extra hours to get to safety. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Chat, any recommendations?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> E- E- E- I think you’re- I know that- BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD- why are some of y'all- E- E- E- E- E- it’s too early for- going the right direction- a village- Sam’s been there- YOU’RE GOING THE- go that way- you’re good, man- Sam knows- TECHNO- just go the way- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had no idea what they were going for but guessed that Sam was a person he didn’t know. What did they have to do with anything? Techno tried another method, “okay, simpler instructions then. Say yes if I’m going the right direction.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Yes- YES- yes- no- 1- E- E- E- yes- Yep- yessir- no- don’t go- yes- yes- 1- E- why are they- yes- YES- Yes- yes- yeppers- go techno- yes- no- SHUT UP- yes- Yes- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno assumed that he was indeed going in a good direction as the majority of Chat were saying yes.<br/><br/></p>
<p>Doing one last check over the campsite area to make sure he didn’t leave anything, he made his way around, never quite letting the storm out of his sight. It was moving very fast, and the wind was picking up, which was definitely not helping with the temperature. Wind chill was as dangerous as freezing temperatures alone. In combination, on the other hand? They were deadly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After finding that nothing was being forgotten, Techno put his backpack on again- which was considerably more heavy with the armor inside- and began heading away from the storm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a couple hours, it was just him, alone, trudging through the snow. Luckily it wasn’t very deep yet. The polo wraps acted just as they should, his legs stayed warm and the muscles of his legs didn’t get tired too quickly even traversing the difficult terrain. Eventually, he left the forest and found himself on a bare tundra with no trees in sight. Sighing, he continued anyway. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chat entertained him with jokes and he told a few stories of Greek mythology he knew that they hadn’t heard yet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, wait, have you heard the story of the dude with the stinky foot?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While he told the story of Philoctetes, Chat eagerly listening, Techno didn’t exactly notice the storm getting closer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, he did. He just elected to ignore it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the story was finally over, light snow had begun to fall. Techno paused and finally looked back at the clouds. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They were still very dark and- like with rain- the falling snow obscured any view of the affected area. None of the forest he had been in earlier was visible, it was like he was staring at a wall of fog that was inching ever closer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He’s gonna die- maybe he’ll freeze like- L- imagine dying- TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES- I think that this might- a problem for- L- L- F- press F to pay- L- we might get to see him die- F- F- F- do you think that Dream will- he can still respawn- F- F- L- E- in a few years they’ll find him in a- F- E- E- E- Techno neva dies! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks for the faith.” Techno swallowed nervously and continued trying to outrun the storm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The falling snow became heavier as time went on, and his visibility was reduced to a few feet. The torch, his only remaining method of warmth, had gone out hours ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hated everything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why had he agreed to come here? Did Dream know where he was sending Techno? He hated the cold, why had he done this to himself?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead of paying attention to his surroundings, Techno felt himself zoning out and trying to take it step by step. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was so cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wraps were losing their effectiveness and he felt parts of his legs growing numb.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not good. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His teeth chattered and he felt himself start shivering against his will. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Also not good. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t even know what was happening until he felt a sharp pain in his leg right near his knee and looked up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was hard to see through all the snow, but he could vaguely make out a skeleton in the distance. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking back down, he saw an arrow embedded in his thigh. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ow.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno unsheathed his sword and quickly dealt with the skeleton, cursing himself for not seeing the thing before it shot him in the leg and cursing deciding not to wear armor. After a few seconds where he picked up the bones of the slain skeleton, Techno considered the injury again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Since it was so cold and his leg was already numb, the arrow had hurt a lot less than it should have. He could almost- <em> almost- </em> forget that it was in his leg. He broke the shaft off and left the arrowhead in his thigh to hopefully keep the blood in and deal with the wound at a later time when he wasn’t about to disappear into a blizzard. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Things just kept getting better and better, didn’t they?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I was an- I was an- adventurer like you- I was an- arrow- until I took an- E- I was an- until I took a- I was an- adventurer- you until I- arrow to the knee- I was an adventurer- E- E- Please, shut up- arrow to- like you until I- until I took an- knee- ouch- I was- adventurer like- arrow to the- to the knee- okay, this isn’t funny anymore- I was an- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I agree with that one voice, not funny, guys. It’s not even my knee, please.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Arrow to the knee- I was- like you until- I took an- knee- I was an- took- was an- like you- adventurer like you- until I- please, for the love of- okay this is annoying- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u"> <em> We’re not doing that anymore. </em> </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks, Mods.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno heard a few voices start yelling but heard more of the Moderators voices calmly pushing back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u"> <em> Focus on staying alive for now, Techno. </em> </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Will do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Chat continued to argue about the censoring, but he could tell the Mods were handling it and making it easier to ignore them. It sounded like people arguing a few rooms over in a hotel. He could just pretend it wasn’t even happening. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Back to what was important. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The storm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The injury. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Deep breaths. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Take stock of health and continue on, there really was no other option. He was too far now to turn back and return to the snowdrift, and even if he did, it probably wouldn’t be there anymore. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno knew he was getting too cold; he guessed that he had a few hours until he was frostbitten or something worse. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The snow felt more like sleet and the flakes on the ground were piling up. It felt like it would be a matter of half an hour until the snow reached his knees. The wind he had been so worried about wasn’t any better, it felt like it was stripping the skin off of his bones. In wave after cold wave, the wind beat at the warrior who continued to walk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The arrow wasn’t that much of a problem, he had certainly faced worse before, but it made walking that much harder. It was already difficult because of the snow and ice, but with the occasional bolt of pain that would race through his leg whenever he aggravated the wound, he became much more slow and tenuous. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was very cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Symptoms of hypothermia. Shivering? Check. No matter what he did, everything was shaking. His hands, his teeth, his entire body. Exhaustion? Check. Techno felt like moving each leg forward was a herculean effort. Clumsiness? Check. He had spent almost a minute trying to sheath his sword again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not good. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had long faded from a painful type of cold to a numbing one. Techno much preferred the numbness but knew that it meant he was in a worse state than before. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just keep walking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Step. Step. Step. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t know what else to do. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Step. Step.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was going to die here. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Step.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe, but he was going to keep going and pray that a village wasn’t far off. That was what Chat had said right? Something about a village that a person named Sam had found in the area. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno let out a weak laugh. Poor guy. He hoped Sam had had a better time in the snow biome than he was currently having. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no other way out than to keep moving.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hours passed. Longer. Who knew?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking through the blizzard when Techno tripped and fell onto his knees. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Getting up felt impossible. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gods, he was so cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t want to get up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was so tired. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chat was muffled. He felt like they were urgently trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t make out what it was. They were just sounds in his ears that were barely audible above the clamor of the blizzard. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He kept drifting in and out of awareness. In one second, he was trying to prop himself up from the snow onto an elbow- when had he fallen to the ground completely? Hadn’t he been on his knees a second ago? In the next second, he was just lying there, feeling the snow slowly fall onto his face, letting it cover his body like the lid to a coffin. He wasn’t sure why he cared. He was very tired. He could just... fall asleep. The snow was so soft. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In a strange moment of clarity, Techno heard footsteps. The soft crunching of someone walking beside him in the snow. By that time his eyes had closed, but the panic drilled into him from avoiding people for so long forced them open. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Standing above him was a horse, and Techno could see its breath in the air. The exhaled clouds were big like the horse had just been running. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wait, had it been running <em> to him? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The horse whinnied and stamped a hoof into the snow right next to Techno’s head. He tried to move away but only succeeded in rolling over. He felt the horse nudge his shoulder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If anything was a sign not to give up, this was it. The horse had to have been from somewhere close. He had to be close to safety. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno used his remaining energy to sit up. He tried to move to his knees and stand but felt them shaking too much. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The horse weaved its neck under his arm and pulled him up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was when Techno saw it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the distance, it couldn’t be more than a few hundred yards, were the lights of a village. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen them before, but he didn’t care as long as he got there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno was still shaking and he couldn’t tell how much permanent damage he would have to deal with after reaching the village, but he knew that if he could make it there he would survive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The horse seemed to have the same idea in its mind as it prompted him forward and trotted beside him, offering support. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He leaned into the horse’s flank and managed to move his icy legs again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was so cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he was so close. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That one hope gave him the energy he needed to continue on, repeating in his head over and over: only a little bit more. Come on. You can do this. Only a little further. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The horse was strong, it didn’t waver in the slightest even with most of Techno’s weight leaning into it. As they walked together, Techno focused on distracting himself with the horse instead of the pain in his legs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, the pain everywhere. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>No. Focus on the horse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He saw that the horse was well-groomed, even having a few blue ribbons weaved into braids in its mane. Wait, <em> her </em> mane. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was beautiful, with a silky black and white speckled coat. The two colors mashed in the middle making a pretty gray gradient, with white and black splotches scattered throughout. The hair near her hooves was white, making it almost look like she wore polo boots of her own. Techno knew she wasn’t meant for war or fighting; she wasn’t like the chargers he had grown up riding. She was meant for travel and endurance, which meant she was strong in a way the chargers hadn’t been. She certainly appeared trained as well, or at least very conscious of people in need. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno was reminded of his dream. He still couldn’t remember it, but whatever it was felt like it was on the tip of his tongue. Maybe it really was an important one. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe, he wondered, he might’ve had a prophetic dream. Huh, how funny would that be. A guy who doesn’t believe in cosmic juju getting slapped in the face with the gift of prophecy?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sounds like something the gods would do. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The lights grew closer and closer until Techno was finally being herded into the small town by the horse. The high, icy winds still whistled in his ears, but Techno already felt warmer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With that sentiment, all the fight he had left dissipated and he weakly let the horse lead him towards a long building with stained glass windows and a spruce door. During this whole journey he had been running on fumes, and now that the fumes were gone, Techno felt emptier than ever before. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stared at the door to the building.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The horse backed away and looked at him like it wanted him to do something. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They looked at each other for a few seconds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, Techno used whatever energy he had left to knock and then promptly collapsed, trying and failing to catch himself before roughly landing on the icy stairs to the building like a ragdoll. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could only hope as he fell into unconsciousness that whoever answered the door would help him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rip the cliffhanger that won’t get answered right away. Why do I do this to you?<br/>Idk, but suffer :)</p>
<p>Do I know why I put the Skyrim joke in here? No, but it’s in there. Plus, you get to see the Mods, pog. </p>
<p>Horse's appearance is based on the actual appearance of one of the minecraft horses. (Anybody want to take a guess on what that horse is gonna be named? It’s not gonna be Carl, but I’ll give a hint that the name she gets is a reference to a major plot point in canon)</p>
<p>You may not think that this chapter has any lore, but it does. Did you catch anything strange? Oh, and doesn’t it suck when you have a nice dream and then forget it? Hmmm, I wonder what or who that could apply too…</p>
<p>HEY GUYS! NEWS! I’m so excited! I released the actual first chapter of A Degenerate Triangle is Just a Line, so go check that out if you want more Techno backstory. It would make me a very happy author :D<br/>It will include: how he met Phil and Wilbur- and possibly Tommy- how he got his voices/Chat, and a ton more stuff that happened way before the start of this story (oh yeah, and quite a bit of angst)<br/>Who knows, you may even get hints about the lore that will clue you into what's going on in this story… :)<br/>(If you want to check it out, it’s part of the same series as this one is: Of Shapes and Songs)</p>
<p>Kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated!<br/>I don’t know why, but comments always bring a little extra joy to my day, so if you feel comfortable leaving one (even if it’s just a hi or a heart) go for it! They mean so much to me</p>
<p>Up next (once again in L’Manberg): we could cause some trouble<br/>(OoOooOoO, we get a new character in this one, I wonder who it could be?)</p>
<p>Love y'all, and thanks for all the support &lt;3<br/>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe,<br/>Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. we could cause some trouble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream gives a new arrival the low-down on limited respawns.<br/>Tommy lets out some teenage angst, and a certain enderman hybrid begins to understand the power of peer-pressure and friendship.<br/>Another person joins the mystery gang.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really like the number twelve, it is fitting that this is the calm before the storm really begins :)<br/>Anyway, here’s chapter 12<br/>POG, it's been a month since I've started this!</p><p>(thank you to this chapter for allowing me to put in some much needed world-building under the guise of “haha, welcome to the server! Oh, you don’t understand how the mechanics of this server work? Here, let me explain in depth!”)</p><p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ranboo didn’t know why he was here. </p><p> </p><p>Scratch that, he didn’t know why he was <em> still</em> here.</p><p> </p><p>When he had made jokes about hacking into the Dream SMP and hanging out with his friends, he hadn’t <em> actually</em> thought that Dream would notice him, let alone decide to just <em> invite</em> him without any other questions. </p><p> </p><p>The Dream SMP was supposed to be private, how had <em> he</em> made the list?</p><p> </p><p>Figures that things would go wrong almost immediately. </p><p> </p><p>What had he expected?</p><p> </p><p>The entry portal itself had gone well enough, being opened in the middle of a walled-off patch of a forest. </p><p> </p><p>There were no fancy welcomes, no fantastic builds at spawn that he had become used to on Hypixel, and no… he wasn’t sure actually. This whole thing was nothing he ever thought he’d experience, he shouldn’t have any expectations at all. </p><p> </p><p>It was a survival server, he guessed it made sense that new arrivals had one task. </p><p> </p><p>To <em> survive. </em></p><p> </p><p>So he picked himself up from the grassy forest floor and brushed off his nice suit and pants. Had to make a good impression… right?</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo sighed, beginning to regret his choice of clothes. </p><p> </p><p>Get wood. </p><p> </p><p>Make a crafting table. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Survive.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It seems that that’s all he had been doing lately. </p><p> </p><p>Well, if he could even remember what he had been doing. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo was picking berries off a wild bush he had found when he met the first inhabitant of the server. </p><p> </p><p>He looked up to see a man in a green hoodie and terrifying smiley-face mask just watching him. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey… Dream.”</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo saw the admin take out a bow. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, buddy, what are you doing?” </p><p> </p><p>He began to back away into the forest. </p><p> </p><p>“Dream?”</p><p> </p><p>An arrow came flying at him. </p><p> </p><p>He did what most people would do. </p><p> </p><p>Screamed and ran. </p><p> </p><p>What the heck was the guy doing? This was a respawn server, right? Surely Dream wasn’t actually just trying to kill him… not permanently at least. Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better about being chased through the forest like some sort of wild game. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, he didn’t make it that far. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take more than a few seconds before Ranboo felt an arrow in his shoulder and then felt his entire body catch fire after it. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t going to lie, it hurt a lot. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ting!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He sat up, gasping in the grassy area where he had first spawned, tapping parts of his body to make sure he was still in one piece. </p><p> </p><p>The pain from the arrow and subsequent fire had mostly vanished and he felt the magic of the respawn still lingering in his system. Ranboo flexed his fingers a couple times and heard someone laughing. </p><p> </p><p>Dream was sitting lazily on one of the walls surrounding the spawn. His mask was off now and Ranboo saw that he wore a goofy, <em> real</em> smile instead. </p><p> </p><p>With ease, the admin dropped down from the wall and walked over to him, offering a hand. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo took it and felt Dream pull him onto his feet. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, man. New server- first death? You know how it is,” Dream said, still smiling. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Ranboo had absolutely no idea ‘how it is,’ but he assumed it would be best to just agree. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” Dream spun in a circle, vaguely gesturing to the world around him, “welcome to the server. Glad you could help me check that the spawn still works.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Dream paused and took a breath, “sorry, I’m just excited you’re here and all. What I meant to say was: welcome, Ranboo, to the Dream SMP. Sorry for killing you almost immediately, but it was to test the respawn and make sure you’re hooked up properly to my system.” </p><p> </p><p>“What system?” Ranboo began to feel like he should’ve had a notepad to write some of this down on. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, we’re not exactly running on unlimited power here. I can’t keep you respawning forever- can I see you communicator?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh…” Ranboo hesitated but took out the small rectangular object. </p><p> </p><p>Dream grabbed it and pressed some buttons. “Okay, so you’re wired into the world chat now. It reads the ley lines throughout the server that I’ve laid down, yada yada, I’m sure you already know how personal servers work-”</p><p> </p><p>“-I don’t, actually?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Dream blinked, “so the quick version is that this world entirely relies on my admin magic- or whatever you wanna call it- and I’ve linked the world chat to my magic that keeps this server running. The chat is able to feel when someone dies and announce it- magic, ya know? It does this among other things. The ley lines also make sure that no matter where you go, you’ll be able to respawn.” Dream then sighed, but it felt forced to Ranboo. “However, unlike the bigger servers, this one doesn’t have enough energy for unlimited respawns- <em> I</em> don’t have enough power.” </p><p> </p><p>Dream handed Ranboo back his communicator and pointed at three green dots in the upper left corner of his screen. “See those? They represent your life count. I can only power enough for three <em> real</em> respawns, by which I mean that you <em> could </em> get lucky and end up with <em> way </em> more than that, but <em> your </em> body and <em> my </em> magic can only handle three down and dirty respawns. Your communicator will keep track of how many lives you have, but you’ll probably be able to feel when a death is a real one. It’ll hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo looked at the glowing dots, “I mean, you killing me just then hurt pretty bad-”</p><p> </p><p>The admin brushed his comment aside indifferently, “it would’ve hurt a lot more if it had been real. That death’s on me which is why it didn’t count, I used my own power to revive you, not the server’s. I apologize for whatever pain it may have caused you, but now that the ley lines know that I recognize you as a player, they’ll be sure to keep you alive even if I’m not around.”</p><p> </p><p>“But not if I die three times.” The enderman hybrid put the communicator back into his pocket. </p><p> </p><p>“No, there is that.” Dream smiled at him humorously, “so try not to do that, okay? You’ll probably be fine. It shouldn’t be a problem, you’re discount Technoblade, right? ”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Ranboo suddenly remembered the nicknames that had been floating around recently, “oh, yeah, I guess. But that doesn’t mean any-”</p><p> </p><p>“Just kidding, it was a joke. You know the whole ‘Technoblade never dies’ thing, don’t you?” Dream’s expression grew pensive, “it’s interesting,” he hummed, “that you’re both here at the same time.”</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo hadn’t heard that Technoblade had come to the Dream SMP, but he supposed it made sense considering how private the famous warrior was. After tournaments, he would vanish and no one could get him for long enough for a proper interview unless you were that Beast guy or someone else as famous. But why? And who could tell why Technoblade did anything anyway?</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know him, but… cool, I guess? Aren’t you guys friends?”</p><p> </p><p>Dream paused, almost imperceptibly, “yeah, I suppose you could say that.” His smile returned, “maybe you’ll meet him some time. Anway, I’ll leave you to explore now! I know you know Fundy and Niki, they’re somewhere here.” Dream put one arm around Ranboo’s shoulders and waved at the forest with his other, “think of it like an adventure!” </p><p> </p><p>“Um, okay.” Ranboo tensed under the friendly, even brotherly, gesture. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be seeing you around, Ranboo.” Dream squeezed his shoulder gently and turned to leave, “if you’re wanting an exit portal to return to Hypixel or another server, you’ll need to come find me. It’s just one of those little quirks that whitelisted servers have.” With a slight head tilt and a smile that seemed genuine but for some reason sent shivers down Ranboo’s spine, Dream said, “have a great time! I’m sure you’re going to make this server so much more <em> fun.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo blinked as the admin vanished in a small flash of light. </p><p> </p><p>Weirdly enough, that interaction hadn’t been the strangest thing to happen to him that day.</p><p> </p><p>He had met Ponk, who had threatened him until he discovered the so-called ‘holy land’ where Ranboo had stayed. </p><p> </p><p>Niki had come and spoken to him, eventually bringing him to L’Manberg and waiting with him as Tubbo had offered him one of the open homes above the crater. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo had been surprised to see Fundy being followed around by a doting spectre that he came to learn was a ghost of his father. So much for that ‘you only have three lives, but you’ll probably be fine’ thing that Dream had said. </p><p> </p><p>Huh. He didn’t think today could get any weirder. </p><p> </p><p>The worst- or maybe the best- came when Ranboo had run into a bored blond kid named Tommy who had roped him into a prank. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wanna do something fun, Ran-bow? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Uh, I don’t really- and my name isn’t- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Come on, bruv. We’re gonna go prank George.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Um… why? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Because I feel like it. Trust me, when you’re with Mr. Tommy Innit, nothing can go wrong! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>When he had heard ‘prank,’ Ranboo had definitely not thought that the kid meant literal arson and destruction of property. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy was… no, Ranboo had no words for Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>Wait.</p><p> </p><p>Fiery. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Did you just fucking hit me! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No, no I didn’t! It was an accident! I wanted to… I meant to give you the flower. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>If he had to settle on anything, Ranboo would say that Tommy was like fire. He burned bright and fast, destroying everything in his path. However, fire isn’t only destructive. It’s also turned to on cold nights for warmth. Ranboo saw that side too. When he had tried to give Tommy a flower and he had refused, Ranboo had still seen Tommy’s face flush with embarrassed color. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What? Do you like flowers, pretty boy? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I do. I do.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Well, I don’t want your fuckin’ flowers! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fiery, yes, but not mean. Not maliciously at least. He could sound that way, but he wasn’t. Sure, Tommy was abrasive and crude, but he was also kind. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo saw it when Tommy promised him that no matter what happened if they were blamed for the ‘prank,’ Tommy would have his back. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo wondered if Tommy ever had someone be so unflinchingly loyal to <em> him. </em> To be the <em> receiver,</em> not the giver. </p><p> </p><p>Besides that, Ranboo had actually enjoyed touring around the server with the passionate Tommy. He was funny and brought a sort of light to whatever wacky thing they found next. </p><p> </p><p>It had been interesting to tour the newly established Targay. It had been interesting to see how upset Tommy got when he realized Ranboo was older, meaning the kid was still the youngest on the server. It had been interesting to see the flickers of emotions pass through Tommy’s eyes as they had walked around the new L’Manberg. </p><p> </p><p>Like a flame, Tommy’s emotions seemed to grow and change with every second. Nothing was ever static with him. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes would flicker between a wave of all-consuming anger that Ranboo didn’t know how to deal with, and a deep, <em> deep</em> sadness that Ranboo somehow had even <em> less</em> of a capacity to help with. </p><p> </p><p>But Ranboo liked Tommy. And he was sure that he wanted to give something back, something to make up for what Tommy had done for him. He didn’t say it out loud, but he silently promised that he would look out for Tommy too… for his friend. No matter what. </p><p> </p><p>When Ranboo had shown up, without anyone on his side, Tommy had helped him. Ranboo wasn’t sure why or how he had deserved this kindness but was so thankful for it. He felt like he had made the right decision coming here. Finally, somewhere to really <em> belong. </em> Maybe, just maybe, this place could become a home for him. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy was suffering on his own, Ranboo could see it in every overly cautious motion and every emotionally conflicted gaze, but he had still taken the time to help a new kid he had no relationship to. He wanted to help him back. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo didn’t want this day to end. He worried that he would forget everything that had happened. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to forget Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to forget his promise to Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo suddenly realized why he was still here. </p><p> </p><p>He wanted to be. </p><p> </p><p>He <em> wanted</em> to be. </p><p> </p><p>For the spirited Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>For the kind Niki. </p><p> </p><p>For the curious Tubbo</p><p> </p><p>For the diligent Fundy.</p><p> </p><p>And for himself. </p><p> </p><p>For his home. For a family. </p><p> </p><p>For the people who could become one. </p><p> </p><p>These were the people he would choose. </p><p> </p><p>People who would choose him too, as Tommy had. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he could be happy here. </p><p> </p><p>At the end of the day, as the sun was passing below the distant horizon, Ranboo was walking the Prime Path by himself. The sky was lit up in vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds like it was on fire. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo was left speechless for a few seconds while staring at the sky.</p><p> </p><p>It was beautiful. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t think he’d ever seen something so effortlessly pretty. </p><p> </p><p>After a moment, Ranboo was distracted by the crunching of paper and a soft laugh. </p><p> </p><p>Sitting alone on a bench perfectly facing the setting sun was Tommy, holding what looked like a letter. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo came up beside him and leaned against the side of the bench. </p><p> </p><p>“What ‘cha doin’?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy turned, “oh, hey, Ranboo. Sorry just, ya know,” he waved around the paper, “reading letters from my dead brother to some creep we didn’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Ranboo had no idea what to say to that. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy turned back to the letter and after a few seconds looked at Ranboo again, raising his eyebrows, “do you want to sit down or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh… yes. Okay.” Ranboo took the other side of the bench and sat rigidly next to Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>They were silent for a few minutes. Ranboo found it strange that Tommy wasn’t initiating any conversation after he had been the more expressive of the pair throughout the day. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” Ranboo started, “beautiful sunset, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy looked up from the letter, “I suppose,” he mumbled. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t mean to bother you-”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Ranboo, you’re not… bothering me. I just-” Tommy sighed. “You’ve just arrived and don’t know everything that’s been going on here. It’s just- hard? You know?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know. No one’s explained anything to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy frowned, “okay, so, bastard man, Wilbur Soot, you know him?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>Somehow his scowl deepened, “doesn’t really matter. He was the first president of L’Manberg-”</p><p> </p><p>“Like Tubbo is now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, like Tubbo,” something wistful flashed through Tommy’s eyes, “basically, Wilbur, who was sort of my brother? We were Phil’s sons- well, Wilbur was, I was adopted- but Will… he… I don’t really know. He lost his mind I guess? It was a lot more complicated than that, but in the end he rigged L’Manberg with explosives and that’s why we’re currently living over a crater.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm-hm.” Tommy raised the letter again, “so, anyway, Tubbo and I found these secret letters hidden in Pogtopia- you don’t know what that is, but it doesn’t matter. They’re all we have left of Wilbur. He lost a lot more than just his mind. Pretty much everything was lost when Schlatt was running L’Manberg. These letters,” Tommy looked longingly at the sheet in his hand, “have to <em> mean </em> something. When I said they were to someone we didn’t know, I meant it.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy turned fully to Ranboo and continued seriously, “look, I’ve lived with him for a long time. We’ve worked together for a long time. I have never, <em> and I mean never, </em> seen him writing one of these. I have no idea who he was talking to. I just-” he made a frustrated gesture, “I want to know why I didn’t recognize my brother when he died. I want to meet the person who did. The person who wrote these letters, Ranboo, could tell me what happened! And- maybe- I would smack ‘em in the face for letting it get this bad.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause as Ranboo saw the fire in Tommy’s eyes die down. </p><p> </p><p>“Ranboo, I just feel like I’m missing something huge. Like I’ve forgotten some big part of my life that-”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! That! That I can help with.” Ranboo said, finally feeling like he could actually contribute something. </p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I understand!” Ranboo said, “I have memory problems, so I definitely know what it feels like to suddenly be missing something important.” He grew more determined, “I know what it feels like, Tommy. It sucks. There’s just this empty feeling that-”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy was smiling softly, “yeah, I know what you mean.”</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo smiled back at him. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t need help,” Tommy said, then added regretfully, “but, I suppose, that it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else on the case with a fresh pair of eyes. You didn’t know Wilbur, so you might notice something that we missed.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can do that!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy stretched his arms wide and yawned, “I’m tired. g’night, big man. See you around in L’Manberg. And,” he made a zipping motion over his lips, “if anyone asks about the house, don’t snitch.”</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo laughed, “got it.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy stood to leave. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Ranboo said, “for today. I didn’t know what to expect from this move. I was kinda scared to be honest, but it’s been nice. <em> You’ve</em> been nice.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy gave him a small, genuine smile, “no problem.” </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo watched Tommy walk away down the Prime Path toward L’Manberg.</p><p> </p><p>He stayed alone on that bench for some time, watching the stars slowly populate the night sky. </p><p> </p><p>It was so indescribably beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, Ranboo knew why he was here. </p><p> </p><p>As he settled down to sleep in the L’Manberg home that night, Ranboo remembers feeling happy. Even though it was cold, he had a sort of peacefulness and joy that had been missing before warming his heart. It was enough. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Will,  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I have a friend.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh, gods, I sound like a kid again.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I just forgot what it felt like. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I miss you, Wilbur. I didn’t know what to do. We still can’t see each other. It’s just too complicated and I’ve already given you the full explanation that you’re tired of hearing.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Why do our letters always circle back to that? Why can’t we just move on? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Back to the main point of this letter: I have a friend.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s not a new thing, per se, but we weren’t friends before. Enemies actually, I’m pretty sure he hated me (not that he didn’t have a reason to).  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But he’s pretty cool, actually. Pretty funny guy, and once we moved past the ‘wanting to kill each other’ phase, we’ve gotten along pretty well, I’d say. I think it’s an improvement that I haven’t murdered him yet. Okay, that might be a lie, but to be honest, he did literally ask for it. The guy is terrifying with a bow, he could teach me a thing or two.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But I thought you might be glad to know that I’m not completely isolated.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m glad too.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I hate to admit it, Will, but you were right.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I don’t want to be alone.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And my new friend is more similar to me than I ever expected. I think I’ve found someone I can trust again.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Funny, right? We were at each other’s throats less than a few weeks ago and now we’re fishing together. Okay, everything I add to this just makes it worse. I still need my reputation.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m still terrifying. People still fear me.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Okay! Ego restored.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> One last thing, Wilbur.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> My friend told me I should actually come to see you. He said I was just pushing you away because I was scared. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I am not scared. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But I still can’t Wilbur.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I don’t know why, but please give me time. We just need more time. You don’t know me, you don’t know what you’re asking me to do. I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell me that you can’t know who I am until I’m honest. Until I’m vulnerable with you.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I don’t think I’ll ever be vulnerable in these letters.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m not sure I remember how.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What does that say about me? What does it say about us? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Gods, we’re so messed up, Will. This entire thing is just so messed up.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> How did it get like this? Did we let it get like this? Did HE let it get like this? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m not expecting you to answer these questions, because I know neither of us has any clue how to fix this.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sincerely,  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> C </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy placed the letter back into his enderchest, folding it delicately and setting it on top of the pile of already read letters. </p><p> </p><p>He sighed, unsure of the emotions racing through him. </p><p> </p><p>Anger, sure. </p><p> </p><p>Fear, sure.</p><p> </p><p>Sadness, sure. </p><p> </p><p>Joy at having made a friend? Also that. He definitely knew how C felt. He had Tubbo, and Ranboo might even become a real friend too. </p><p> </p><p>Thousands of emotions mixed up into a horrible concoction were currently brewing in his heart. Or is that just how emotions are? Never just one, always more complicated mixtures. </p><p> </p><p>He missed the simple days where he could say he was angry and mean it wholeheartedly, not whatever weak anger he felt for Will. He had no idea what he felt about his brother. He missed being able to <em> know </em> what he was feeling. </p><p> </p><p>When had it all changed? </p><p> </p><p>Destroying George’s house had felt good at the time, but some worry had begun to take root in his thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>Because no matter what happened. </p><p> </p><p>Everything would be okay. </p><p> </p><p>He would get away with it like he always did and Ranboo wouldn’t even have to be involved. When it came down to it, Tommy knew that he would protect the enderman hybrid. </p><p> </p><p>As he settled down to sleep, all Tommy could think of was the letters. </p><p> </p><p>After all this was over, he would feel better. </p><p> </p><p>...right?</p><p> </p><p>Right?</p><p> </p><p>Tommy wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>{Ranboo has joined the party!}</p><p>Ranboo: hey, Dream, why did you invite me here?<br/>Dream: wouldn’t you like to know, memory boy?</p><p>Alright, question time: what is Dream planning? Who was C referring to when he said he had a new friend? </p><p>Fun facts about C’s friend that could help your guess:<br/>1) They will not show up in the present day of this story (there may be flashbacks)<br/>2) They are the only other character that I have made able to hear Chat</p><p>Did that second point interest you? Hm :)<br/>Who do you think they are?<br/>I will tell you if you guess correctly in the comments<br/>And I’ll eventually release a one-shot with them, but I don’t know when that will be</p><p>Anyway, per the usual: comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks are always seen and appreciated from the bottom of my heart. (it would be awesome if we hit the “funny number” of bookmarks, we’re only two away)<br/>ALSO THANK YOU FOR ALMOST 5000 HITS, HOLY COW<br/>&lt;3333333333333333333333</p><p>Lucky number thirteen: it’s not a question of caring, we’re all sad that he’s gone</p><p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. it's not a question of caring, we're all sad that he's gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fundy processes Wilbur’s death and rebirth while Eret tries to help.<br/>Tubbo is (unsurprisingly) bad at hiding things when he’s sleep deprived.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Eret + Fundy + Sally + Wilbur lore! POGGERS</p><p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Thanks for doing this, Eret.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret jumped onto the bench to sit next to Fundy. “No problem.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy sighed, holding the warm teacup Eret had passed him, letting its heat seep into his hands. He had been very cold recently, though he guessed it was because a certain ghost wouldn’t leave him alone. </p><p> </p><p>A deep, dark sky currently smothered the Dream SMP. It was not quite midnight yet, but it was still late. Late enough that the pair had the streets of L’Manberg to themselves. </p><p> </p><p>It should have been very dark out because the moon was only a tiny crescent hanging in the abysmal sky, but there was something else illuminating the wooden planks of L’Manberg. Beautiful flickering lanterns floated gently in the air all across the country, giving the entire area a soft, rich glow. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy’s thoughts wandered, bouncing from one reflection about his father to the next without real purpose. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone loved the stunning addition of the lanterns. Everyone but Wilbur. Or, at least Fundy guessed that Wilbur wouldn’t have liked them. It wasn’t like he could ask his ghost or something. Ghostbur would never be Wilbur. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur had thought he would destroy everything. </p><p> </p><p>He had only destroyed himself. </p><p> </p><p>Were Ghostbur’s efforts meant to somehow heal the wound his predecessor had worked so hard to make? </p><p> </p><p>Fundy didn’t think Ghostbur was going to find any solace, though it was nice to have him helping with the reconstruction. </p><p> </p><p>The rebuilding had been going well, especially with his added help. The man- <em> ghost- </em> never seemed to tire and had great ideas. He had endless energy for building, making music, playing pranks… and consequently driving his son up the wall. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy had barely had a second alone since Wilbur had returned. He couldn’t for the life of him tell why the ghost had latched onto <em> him. </em> Alive-bur, which was the name they had taken to calling the real Wilbur, had always been somewhat of a distant figure. </p><p> </p><p>But Fundy loved his father… well... kind-of. </p><p> </p><p>‘It’s complicated’ was what Fundy settled for. </p><p> </p><p>More correctly, ‘it <em> was </em> complicated,’ because Wilbur was dead now. </p><p> </p><p>But Ghostbur had taken his place. It was like the ghost was trying to be everything that Alivebur had adamantly pushed away. Like he was trying to make up for all those years of nothing. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy almost sighed by even thinking of it. <em> Everything </em> was complicated.</p><p> </p><p>Anyway, when Eret had offered a little respite from Ghostbur’s shenanigans, Fundy had eagerly accepted. Although, Fundy also hadn’t missed the dejected look Ghostbur had given him after Fundy had explained that he wanted it to just be him and Eret, without Ghostbur. </p><p> </p><p>It seemed that Wilbur’s- <em> Ghostbur’s, </em> Fundy corrected himself <em> - </em> memory wasn’t helping anything. Fundy remembers the first time he had mentioned Eret in front of the ghost; he remembers the thoughtful look and the proud statement of “oh, I remember them, they’re a bad guy right? You know, like the song says!” Fundy remembers flinching and trying to explain to Ghostbur that things had changed, but his words never seemed to stick with the ghost. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It felt like Ghostbur was dragging them all back into the past. It seemed that in trying to be happy all the time, the ghost was only bringing them more pain. </p><p> </p><p>Sure, <em> Ghostbur </em> was always happy. He only remembered the good memories after all. </p><p> </p><p>But… the conversations Fundy <em> really</em> wanted to have with his father weren’t happy ones. </p><p> </p><p>And so, Ghostbur would never have those conversations. </p><p> </p><p>At first- after the shock of seeing a dead relative, of course- Fundy had figured that it might do him some good to have Wilbur back. He had been too scared to confront his father about... well, anything really while he had been alive, but Fundy had gained courage after he died. Everything felt less important, more trivial now. All of the attention he had missed, all of the times Wilbur had ignored him with casual disregard, all of his desire to get one- just one- iota of affection from Wilbur now seemed like the desires of a spoiled child. </p><p> </p><p>Though, Fundy mentally laughed, he definitely was not someone one would call a ‘spoiled child.’ It was strange to think about honestly. Wilbur would’ve given him anything he wanted, but that was exactly it. That was the problem. Wilbur never made an effort to be <em> more. </em> He gave Fundy what Fundy wanted, but he never tried to learn what Fundy liked, who Fundy was, or anything actually meaningful about his son. </p><p> </p><p>Like Fundy was someone he was stuck with rather than being someone he wanted. </p><p> </p><p>...Did he? </p><p> </p><p>Did he… <em> want</em> Fundy?</p><p> </p><p>Fundy didn’t know. He didn’t know if he ever <em> would </em> know. </p><p> </p><p>And Ghostbur sure as anything wasn’t going to help him answer that question. </p><p> </p><p>“So…” Eret’s baritone voice shocked Fundy from his thoughts, “d'ya wanna talk… about anything?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” Fundy laughed, “yeah, I mean- there’s a lot of things I <em> want </em> to talk about, but I can never seem to find the moment.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret shrugged, taking a sip of their tea, “I’m here. I’d listen.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em> really</em> don’t want to hear about all the fucking trauma-”</p><p> </p><p>“I would.” Fundy whipped his head to look at the king.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Eret readjusted in their seat, “I would listen, you know. You’re my friend, Fundy. I care about you. You’ve done a lot for me, I would be a terrible person not to return at least some of it.”</p><p> </p><p>For a second Fundy could only angrily remember the words of ‘down with the revolution, boys!’ echoing in his conflicted mind. Then, he realized that his hand had tightened on the handle of his teacup and forced himself to relax. </p><p> </p><p>Ghostbur was rubbing off on him. He had forgiven Eret a long time ago for that, hadn’t he? </p><p> </p><p>Considering what he himself had done, it was easy to forgive Eret for taking a good deal. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy had done worse for less. </p><p> </p><p>He had burned that flag out of rage. </p><p> </p><p>Not money. Not power. Not fame. </p><p> </p><p>Sure, it helped him get into Schlatt’s good graces, but that was just a cover. </p><p> </p><p>He had wanted to burn that flag for a long time before the deed itself was done. </p><p> </p><p>It had really hit him when Wilbur had acted like his whole campaign was nothing but child’s play. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, Fundy was his <em> kid, </em> but Fundy wasn’t a kid anymore. Did Wilbur ever realize that? Everything Wilbur had done for him had been out of obligation. Take care of the messed-up hybrid that you got stuck with because it was the right thing to do, but not because he <em> cared. </em> Wilbur never took <em> care </em> of him, he just kept him alive. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy sighed- thinking too that he had been sighing too much recently- saying, “thanks, Eret. It means a lot… but I don’t even know where to begin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe start by explaining why you looked at me when I invited you to do this like I was saving you from a murderous tiger?” Eret’s eyebrows were tilted humorously. </p><p> </p><p>Laughing, Fundy said, “gods, thank you so much for doing this. I think spending one more minute with Ghostbur would’ve made my head explode.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus.” Eret laughed with him, “I thought you two were getting along? I know Ghostbur isn’t Wilbur but-”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the thing though,” Fundy said, “Ghostbur <em> isn’t</em> Wilbur.” He looked at Eret, smiling spitefully, “sometimes I want him to be, you know? I want him to- I want him to yell at me or ignore me, act anything like what I knew. I don’t know Ghostbur. I don’t understand why he’s- why he’s...”</p><p> </p><p>Eret took another sip of tea, gently nodding at Fundy to continue. </p><p> </p><p>“Why he’s being so <em> nice </em> to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret paused. Then, softly with a tinge of worry, “was- was Wilbur <em> not</em> nice to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, that’s not what I meant…” Fundy let out a breath, “he’s just different. He’s acting like I’m a kid again, well… he’s acting like I <em> wanted</em> him to act when I was a kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve never really told us what it was like growing up with Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s another thing I don’t understand.” Fundy said, “when we questioned Ghostbur about what he remembered, he listed ‘raising me’ as one of the things he remembers fondly. He didn’t- well, he didn’t exactly raise me.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret patiently waited. Fundy hated how comfortable they were making him feel, how safe. When he had accepted the invitation for a tea party, he hadn’t been planning on opening up about his whole past in one evening. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy continued, “Wilbur said he remembered Sally too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your mom?”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy nodded slowly, “only, he never told me about Sally while he was alive. I never even met her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fundy, I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>The fox-hybrid shrugged, “it’s okay. I can’t really miss someone I never knew. The only thing he told me about her was that she was an admin and that she disappeared after I was born. He never wanted to say more than that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sally was blessed?” Eret seemed to be considering something. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Fundy frowned, adding, “you call it blessed?”</p><p> </p><p>Eret tilted their head quizzically, “yes? Is that not what- is there another term? Admins are blessed by one of the gods, right? That’s what gives them their power?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not wrong, but I wouldn’t call admins ‘blessed’ by their powers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?” Eret seemed genuinely interested. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy sighed yet again, “okay, I might be biased. Wilbur was an admin.”</p><p> </p><p>“He was- wait...”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, dear old Dad was an admin. What, he never told you?” Fundy said sarcastically, “don’t be offended, Wilbur never tells anyone anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I knew.”</p><p> </p><p>Now it was Fundy who was confused, “what? You knew?”</p><p> </p><p>Eret nodded, “I lived in a world he created once. SMP Earth.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Fundy awkwardly set down his teacup on the bench they were seated on, opting instead to fidget with his tail. “He didn’t like to talk about SMP Earth.” He smiled at Eret, “I keep forgetting how old you are.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am not old!” Eret said with mock offense, crossing their arms. “It hasn’t been that long since then! Plus, I was barely a kid in that world. Though, it’s pretty cool that both your parents were admins, though I don’t think I’ll ever get over Wilbur claiming that he fucked a fish-”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy started laughing, saying jokingly, “I mean, I never met ‘er. She could’ve been a particularly beautiful salmon for all I know.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret laughed too, but the conversation seemed to die there. </p><p> </p><p>They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping tea and watching the lanterns lazily drift through the night air. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you ever...” Fundy asked suddenly, “did you ever know Wilbur? Or Philza? On SMP Earth?”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean- everyone knew Wilbur. He was one of the admins, a newer one at that. He had a lot of power if I remember correctly. SMP Earth was a masterpiece. There were quite a few admins feeding the world power, so it allowed us to have unlimited respawns.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy snorted, “yeah, that’d be pretty nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, ‘cept we never learned to respect death. Most of us came to smaller servers like this one after SMP Earth fell, and we weren’t prepared for what the world really was like…” Eret’s eyes looked somewhat glazed over as he finished, “we never knew what death really meant.”</p><p> </p><p>Thinking of Ghostbur, Fundy muttered, “yeah, sounds like Wilbur too. He was always detached from reality, messing around with what power he had left.”</p><p> </p><p>“How was he- you know- <em> after</em> SMP Earth?”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy shrugged, “we didn’t talk a lot. He was too busy being high on his own status. Doing these stupid challenges where he would invite a bunch of others to these worlds and then run tests on them like he was some sort of god.”</p><p> </p><p>“He didn’t take the loss of SMP Earth well, did he?” Eret swirled their tea around in its cup absentmindedly. </p><p> </p><p>“He did not,” Fundy agreed. “I think… I think he was always broken, at least as long as I knew him. He was never fully <em> there</em><em>. </em> It was like he lost something and then never got it back.” He considered the other option, “or maybe he was always like this and I just got monumentally unlucky with the family lottery.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean,” Eret said sheepishly, “family isn’t only by blood. It’s not just a lottery.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Fundy watched the lanterns drift aimlessly, quite like how he felt now. </p><p> </p><p>“Fundy,” Eret began, “if you wanted someone to be there for you to be a family- or anything really- I’d… I would be here.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy looked at them. “What? Really?”</p><p> </p><p>Eret smiled, “yeah, of course I’d be your surrogate parent. Again- and I’ll say this as many times as needed to make you believe it- I’m here for you, Fundy. I care about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s-” Fundy grinned too, “thanks, Eret.”</p><p> </p><p>“Anytime.” A spark appeared in the king’s eyes, “ooo, we could do a whole official adoption and-”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy laughed. “If that’ll make you happy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I want it to make you happy too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m- I’m very grateful.”</p><p> </p><p>They were distracted by the sound of shoes on wood, the hollow beats of someone walking the boards of the L’Manberg platforms. </p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo?”</p><p> </p><p>The kid was holding what looked like a letter and turned unfocused eyes on them, “oh, hey.” He sounded very tired and looked like he was going to fall over. Tubbo’s suit looked like it had seen better days as well as it hung messily around his shoulders with a few dirt spots staining the black silk. </p><p> </p><p>“You okay, bud?” Eret raised their eyebrows. </p><p> </p><p>“Mm-hmm.” Tubbo blinked slowly, “I couldn’t sleep.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that you’re holding?”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo quickly shoved the paper into a pocket. “Nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret and Fundy exchanged an exasperated look. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy turned back to Tubbo and narrowed his eyes, “would that ‘nothing’ have anything to do with the letters that Tommy’s been bothering Ghostbur about?”</p><p> </p><p>For a second, Tubbo looked like he was going to try lying again but sighed instead. “Yeah, I guess I have to tell you now.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret laughed and tapped part of the bench next to them, “come, take a seat.”</p><p> </p><p>Yawning, Tubbo walked over and plopped down next to Eret. </p><p> </p><p>“You sleepy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Very much so.” Tubbo stretched, then took out the letter that he had hastily crammed into his pocket, smoothing it over to try and remove the wrinkles he had made. “I don’t even know where to start with this one.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy and Eret just waited. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Tubbo started, “Tommy and I were exploring Pogtopia, doing a little spring cleaning, and we found some letters that Wilbur had hidden away.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.” Fundy mused, “I’m guessing that these <em> were </em> what Tommy was asking Ghostbur about. And Ghostbur didn’t remember them at all?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, he didn’t remember sending letters to someone at <em> all? </em>” Eret asked, “I know he doesn’t really remember the bad memories, but how does one forget something like that?”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo shrugged, “we don’t know. But the main problem we’ve run into is that-” Tubbo’s eyes suddenly widened, “wait, can you guys promise not to tell Phil about this?”</p><p> </p><p>Eret looked at Fundy who simply nodded. “Sure,” they said together. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay so, basically, Wilbur was writing these letters to someone he called his twin, but no one seems to remember anyone who might fit the description.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret frowned, “that’s strange.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like some voodoo shit, my dude.” Fundy raised his eyebrows at the kid. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Tubbo agreed, “we have no idea either.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m sure Fundy would be open to helping.” Fundy stared at the king in surprise, but Eret continued, “I’m also always up for a little mystery solving myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo smiled, “we’d appreciate all the help we can get. Just- seriously- don’t tell Phil.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not that I care,” Fundy said, “but why?”</p><p> </p><p>“One of the letters expressed an extreme desire to keep Philza from ever finding out about them,” Tubbo explained, “I don’t know if we’ll follow that direction to the end, but until we have more information, we’re sticking with not telling him anything. Although, I think that we’ll eventually tell him, it seems wrong to be keeping something about Wilbur from his Dad like this.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy grimaced. </p><p> </p><p>“We will help you, Tubbo!” Eret gave an overly enthusiastic encouragement, especially considering how tired they all were. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo smiled back at them, “it can be just like the old days! It’s been a long time since we’ve been on the same side in something.”</p><p> </p><p>“Original L’Manberg crew,” Fundy considered, “<em>mostly </em> back at it again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not gonna lie, I’ve missed you, Eret.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret laughed, “I’ve missed you guys too. I know I’m still king of the SMP, but I hope that we can work together and move beyond the past.”</p><p> </p><p>“The past will stay where it belongs.” Tubbo placed a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy smiled at the pair of governmental leaders. A kid and a traitor. A president and a king. Two people so much more than their labels. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo removed his hand and held the letter out to Fundy, “do you want to read one? This one is one of Wilbur’s I think.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy didn’t want to take the letter but found himself reaching out anyway. “Uh- sure.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret watched as he opened the envelope and removed a small letter, beginning to read. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> C,  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s been really nice getting to know Fundy more. Kid’s a genius with redstone. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Remember how I said I’d be making a room to hide our letters in? Yeah, Fundy was the one who explained to me how to make a simple redstone door. It’ll hide the letters better than what I’ve been doing (yes, I just put them in the attic, shut up, C).  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Starting a nation with him by my side was very fun, though I still don’t know how to deal with him. L’Manberg is growing, maybe it’ll finally be a good place for him to live. Maybe I can give him that safety and family I never could before.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s hard. Coming back into someone’s life.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I don’t know how I should be treating him. I try too hard in one direction, and he gets upset that I’m basically being a helicopter parent. Too far in the other direction is just as bad because I feel like I’m neglecting him.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This wasn’t something I was prepared for. It wasn’t even something I knew of until he was practically dropped on my doorstep with a note saying “here! A gift that I didn’t bother to check if you wanted.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I haven’t talked to her since, C.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> If you see her, let her know that I miss her. That I don’t hate her for leaving. The gods know I’ve done just as bad myself.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She should know.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Although, she should at least talk to me.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Or have I bored her? Was I a toy that finally became too mundane? Was I not powerful enough? Was I not fun enough? Interesting enough for her little game? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You know what, C? Fuck her.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That relationship wasn’t a good thing for me and I’m glad it’s over.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yours,  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fundy stopped reading and saw both Tubbo and Eret looking at him with pitying eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, Fundy,” Tubbo began, “I thought I organized them and I didn’t know-”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy shook his head, “no, it’s fine.” He looked back at the letter. “I know you couldn't have known what this letter contained.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Sorry,” Tubbo repeated anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Eret side-hugged him, somehow knowing just what to say, “it’s okay to have complicated feelings about your family, Fundy.”</p><p> </p><p>The fox-hybrid smiled softly, “thank you, Eret.” He turned to Tubbo and handed the letter back. “You know, Tubbo, I think it might help me as well to figure out who this mysterious C is. Maybe I can ask them some questions and get the answers I never got from Wilbur during his life.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo beamed at them, “welcome to the crew!”</p><p> </p><p>Eret wrapped their arms around both of the others who leaned into their side. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy sighed, turning his eyes once again to the wandering lanterns. </p><p> </p><p>Everything <em> was </em> messy. Everything was <em> complicated </em> and <em> difficult. </em> He didn’t know how it would all end. </p><p> </p><p>But looking at the lanterns that night with Eret and Tubbo by his side comforted him. It made Fundy feel that, in the end, maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.</p><p> </p><p>The world was healing. L’Manberg was at peace. It was <em> okay. </em></p><p> </p><p>Everything was finally looking up. </p><p> </p><p>...Too bad it wouldn’t stay that way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>{Fundy has joined the party!}<br/>{Eret has joined the party!}</p><p>Sorry that this chapter took a bit to get out to you guys!<br/>But you’ll be happy to know the reasons: first, I spent a ton of time officially writing and organizing my notes for this, and I now have a full outline! That’s right, I know the beginning, middle, *and* the end :)<br/>Secondly, I started a new WIP called “The Extradition” that’s a somewhat crack, somewhat recovery/redemption story of Dream using Techno’s favor to escape prison and the hijinks they get up to together after. (So go check that out if it sounds cool to you, people seem to have been enjoying it so far :D)<br/>I had the idea and then looked at my notes for the next few chapters of both TSS and DTJL and saw mostly angst. I was just like “oh, no. Absolutely not. I cannot write only angst for that long. TOO MUCH ANGST.” So I created The Extradition as a sort of comfort project for when I don’t feel like writing the complicated emotional stuff for TSS and DTJL</p><p>Anyway, what did you all think of this chapter? Did you like that Sally and Wilbur lore? Trust me, Wilbur’s past *might* be VERY important to this :)<br/>Also, is Sally a fish in this? A shapeshifter?<br/>Hmm… I won’t tell you yet, but know that it’s VERY important<br/>What are ya thinking now? Let me know<br/>Y’all’s comments are the best things ever :D</p><p>Thank you all for your patience and love for this story &lt;3<br/>I promise it can only get better (maybe worse for the characters, but better for you guys) from here, we’re going to start getting into the thick of the mystery…</p><p>Up next: we’re falling apart </p><p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe &lt;3<br/>Best regards, Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. we're falling apart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just when they were finally getting somewhere, everything falls apart again.<br/>Tommy finds an old photo, Tubbo accidently weakens L’Manberg while trying to act strong, and Dream builds a wall.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rut rho scoob.<br/>But you knew this was coming, right? :)<br/>Oh god, there’s so much lore in this chapter</p><p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To the outside viewer, there were currently a few different groups trying to figure out the mystery, whether they themselves knew it or not. </p><p> </p><p>First, there was Tommy. He had been the one to start the investigation after all. He had Tubbo by his side, though the other was considerably less interested in the answer than the former. The President only wanted it to be solved because he hoped that it would somehow make everything go back to the way it was. Tubbo wanted his Tommy back. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy wanted himself back. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy wanted his discs. </p><p> </p><p>And Tommy wanted <em> Wilbur. </em></p><p> </p><p>If only everything could go back to the way it was when nothing had been too serious. No countries. No complicated interweaving loyalties. Just people. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo and Eret wanted that too. Friends, L’Manburgains, countrymen, who cares? </p><p> </p><p>Fundy wanted answers. </p><p> </p><p>Humbly, Phil wanted to understand what was going on. It felt like he had joined into the middle of a story in progress and had been left without a guide to put the pieces together by himself. He still had no idea why Wilbur had done what he did. He had no idea what was going on with his other son Tommy who seemed to avoid him like he was the plague, and he certainly had no idea what he was meant to do himself. Why was he here? </p><p> </p><p>He knew why; it was because he wanted to help. </p><p> </p><p>But how can you help people if none of them will <em> let </em> you?</p><p> </p><p>Quackity wanted something. </p><p> </p><p>But he didn’t know what. </p><p> </p><p>He missed that thrill he had gotten when he was around Schlatt. </p><p> </p><p>What was it?</p><p> </p><p>Power?</p><p> </p><p>A storm began to brew in Quackity’s heart as he watched Dream yell at Tubbo that day. </p><p> </p><p>...but we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade was trying to figure out a lot of things. </p><p> </p><p>Namely what had happened to Wilbur, what happened to his own past- though he was getting closer to this answer than he thought- and finally, and most importantly, why he was still here. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t explain it, but ever since Techno had arrived on the server, he had been infected with a lingering sense of dread. It wasn’t urgent enough to demand his attention, but it was constant. A slight headache that just simply wouldn’t go away. </p><p> </p><p>This, compounded with the tangled mess that was his feelings of betrayal, loss and something that he’d never admit was love, left Techno wondering what was wrong <em> now.  </em></p><p> </p><p>What are feelings if you don’t understand them? Physical wounds had always made more sense to Techno. You could just look at them and know what was wrong. Sure, internal wounds were sometimes difficult to parse out, but they still made more sense than <em> emotional wounds. </em> </p><p> </p><p>Why, why, why, why, why. Why did he feel this way? He knew he needed to do something- something soon- otherwise he’d collapse under the weight of whatever was crushing his very soul. He sometimes struggled to breathe after seeing a particularly beautiful snowflake. Music had that effect too, specifically that of a guitar. Was this grief? If so, for whom? For Wilbur? Or for the life Techno was left to live without him?</p><p> </p><p>And so Technoblade was left to suffer in ignorance for just a little while longer, the pieces of a chess game he didn’t even know he was playing moving forward in the shadows. </p><p> </p><p>Someone preparing for a check. Someone pursuing a check<em> mate. </em></p><p> </p><p>Words echoed in Technoblade’s mind as he slept in unconsciousness. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Flip the board.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Everyone was playing a game, but who would win?</p><p> </p><p>There was one other side of this story. </p><p> </p><p>Somewhere, someone was flipping a coin. </p><p> </p><p>Heads, tails. </p><p> </p><p>I’m going to ask you again: make your choice. And in a little while, I’m going to ask you the same question as before.</p><p> </p><p>Fifty-fifty. </p><p> </p><p>It was <em> always </em> fifty-fifty. </p><p> </p><p>But what happens when one of those sides is removed? </p><p> </p><p>But that’s impossible. Even if you can’t see the other side when the coin has landed on tails, that doesn’t mean that the head’s side doesn’t exist. Object permanence and all that. </p><p> </p><p>Someone sighed to himself. What was he missing?</p><p> </p><p>One often forgets that coins actually have three options to land on. </p><p> </p><p>Heads. </p><p> </p><p>Tails. </p><p> </p><p>And the <em> edge. </em></p><p> </p><p>Who was the edge in this metaphor?</p><p> </p><p>Who was that connecting thread between everything?</p><p> </p><p>Dream flipped a coin absentmindedly. Thinking. </p><p> </p><p>He leaned back in a chair and considered the coin. </p><p> </p><p>Heads. </p><p> </p><p>Tails. </p><p> </p><p>The <em> edge. </em></p><p> </p><p>His communicator pinged. Reading the message, Dream set the communicator aside, laughing to himself. What an idiot-</p><p> </p><p>Wait. </p><p> </p><p>He hastily looked at the communicator again. </p><p> </p><p>That was a death message. A <em>real</em> death message. A <em>failed</em> death message.</p><p> </p><p>He double-checked it. That wasn’t from the world chat.</p><p> </p><p>That was a <em> personal </em> message. No one else knew they were dead, because they <em> hadn’t died.</em> The world’s magic had only updated him because it had attempted to revive the player and failed. Someone should be dead. Perma-dead. </p><p> </p><p>This shouldn’t be possible. </p><p> </p><p>More messages began appearing. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[failed to respawn {player 23}]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[checking for error…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[status error found]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[{player 23} status: dead (zero lives remaining)]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[status deemed false]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[connection error found]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[{player 23} lacks a connection. WARNING: without a functioning connection to the magical ley lines of this server, players do not have the magic necessary to respawn]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[troubleshooting…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[diagnosis: (1) failed respawn may be due to delayed use of totem (2) respawn and status error may be due to glitch in server ley lines (3) connection lag may have produced erroneous status update]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[fixing status error…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[status error fixed successfully]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[{player 23} status: alive (unknown lives remaining)]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[life count cannot be updated until connection error is resolved]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[fixing connection error…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[...]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[...]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[...]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[connection cannot be restored to {player 23}]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[checking for error…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[connection error found. {player 23} already has a connection]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[server connection: false]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[glitched connection found]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[waiting for server connection override…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[server connection override failed]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[connection cannot be restored to {player 23}]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[spawn point set for {player 23}]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[fixing connection error…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[connection cannot be restored to {player 23}]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[troubleshooting…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[diagnosis: (1) player may already have an existing connection to the server, please check that {player 23} has an updated account (2) player may have been incorrectly assigned a ‘player’ role as opposed to ‘operator’ or ‘co-administrator’ (3) {player 23} may have a limited number of respawns unconnected to server magic (i.e players following the ‘Harcore’ rules) this is not something you can change without express consent from the player]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[attempting to resolve connection error…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[...]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[...]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[...]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[connection cannot be restored to {player 23}]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[locating {player 23}]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[player located]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[attempting connection…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[{player 23} located, magical connection not binding...]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[fixing connection error…]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[connection cannot be restored to {player 23}]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[failed connection. THIS ISSUE REQUIRES IMMEDIATE ATTENTION FROM SERVER ADMINISTRATOR OR OPERATOR]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[WARNING: {player 23} cannot respawn. Death before this issue is resolved will be permanent]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Dream squinted at the messages. He pulled up the list of player’s lives and looked around with his power a little bit. </p><p> </p><p>Something was wrong. </p><p> </p><p>He flipped past the names faster. Niki, Quackity, Tubbo, George, Fundy, Eret, Sapnap, Sam- what was he missing? Everything <em> looked </em> in order. </p><p> </p><p>Dream paused. </p><p> </p><p>Wait, where was the name of the person who had just ‘died’? </p><p> </p><p>It was missing. </p><p> </p><p>But the player was still <em> alive, </em> though they didn’t have a connection to the server itself. </p><p> </p><p>That shouldn’t be possible. </p><p> </p><p>Unbeknownst to everyone else, there had been one other person looking into the mystery. </p><p> </p><p>Dream. </p><p> </p><p>And with those messages, a new idea took root in the admin’s mind. He realized that he might be getting close to the truth. A truth that a few people had worked very hard to bury. </p><p> </p><p>Well, if you don’t bury a dead body, it’s going to smell. </p><p> </p><p>If he was right… </p><p> </p><p>Dream smirked, realizing how perfect his plan was. </p><p> </p><p>He was going to get what he wanted: <em> everything. </em> Control over a power some people had never even dreamed of. He was going to be a god. Life. Death. And everything in between. </p><p> </p><p>Dream couldn’t help laughing. </p><p> </p><p>Remember how you were going to be asked a question?</p><p> </p><p>Make your choice. Heads or tails. </p><p> </p><p>He flipped the coin. </p><p> </p><p>Tails. </p><p> </p><p>Was your choice right?</p><p> </p><p>A smile that could cut like a knife grew across the admin's face. </p><p> </p><p>It’s showtime. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy was sitting under the L’Mantree, reading to himself. </p><p> </p><p>A few discarded letters sat in the grass next to him that the wind would rustle every few minutes or so. None had been particularly helpful. There had been a few mentions of people who both writers refused to name, meaning they meant little to Tommy, and it was even worse that those letters had been about mundane things like farming or taking care of a horse. </p><p> </p><p>Needless to say, Tommy was bored. </p><p> </p><p>C was supposed to be a fighter. They were supposed to be <em> interesting. </em> Learning about the yearly cycles of planting potatoes was not interesting to Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>Frankly, his interest in C’s letters was rapidly dropping. </p><p> </p><p>This whole endeavor had begun to seem futile. Tommy wondered if he should stop, considering for the first time that maybe he’d never find out the answer. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe it didn’t even matter at all. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he had never known who C was. Maybe C didn’t know him. Maybe C was just some random pen-pal Wilbur had communicated with who had never held any actual importance in any of their lives. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy sighed, realizing that even if he did figure out who C was, he might never even meet the person. </p><p> </p><p>Which is why the final letter he had brought with him that day had particularly struck him. </p><p> </p><p>There had been one envelope left after all of the boring ones that Tommy had saved for last because it had felt heavier than the others. That meant it <em> had </em> to be interesting right?</p><p> </p><p>It was. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy removed the letter and felt something smaller and heavier slide out with it. Behind the letter was a weighted piece of paper, maybe film? Tommy decided to look at it after finishing the letter itself. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur,  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Here’s hoping that this letter finds you well.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There isn’t really a reason to be sending this so soon. I just happened to find that photo and it made me think of you.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I don’t take photos a lot, though this aversion may have developed because people were always taking photos of me, not the other way around.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s a group photo, of people I’ve forgotten and those who have likely forgotten me.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur, there’s something important here. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say what it is.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I just can’t help myself from looking at this photo and feeling like I’ve lost something. Like we’ve all lost something.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I remember taking this photo. I remember how long it took to get everyone into position.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But despite the arguments, despite the fact that we were enemies again only hours after it was taken, this photo remains an expression of unity. In a way I don’t know how to describe.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I looked so happy.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s a simple photo, but somehow I think it’s the most beautiful one I’ve ever taken.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A true candid. Showing the world what we didn’t want them to see.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Showing how we really were. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Happy. Unified.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> How we should have remained.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike> <em> I’m so sorry I messed that up. (How many times can I write those words without meaning them? I know deep down I’m sorry, </em> <b> <em>I know it.</em> </b> <em> But I don’t understand why. And I’m sorry for that too. For what good is an apology if it’s not real? I can’t really mean it. I want so badly to know what to do, to know what I need to do to fix this- to make it stop hurting. It doesn’t, Wilbur. It never has. I can’t help wondering if I deserve to hurt, and that’s why it hasn’t faded. Wounds fade with time. This one hasn’t. What does that mean?) </em> </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’ve attached the photo as a reminder of how it was, hoping that it might give you some comfort, though I know that is unlikely. There is no comfort for this.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Always yours, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> C </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy frowned at the large paragraph that had been crossed out, though it was still possible to read the original message. It just felt like Wilbur and C kept stepping around whatever had happened in the past. Only ever alluding to it, never actually explaining anything. </p><p> </p><p>They might have known what was going on, but Tommy certainly didn’t. Everything was just a vague, tumbled mess of apologies and guilt. </p><p> </p><p>Sitting there, under the tree, it occurred to Tommy that C might not be a good person. He suddenly wondered why he hadn’t considered that sooner. Wilbur’s relationship with the person in these letters seemed strained, and C didn’t sound like a very stable individual themselves. Had C had more to do with Wilbur’s fall than Tommy had given the letters credit for?</p><p> </p><p>He remembered the photo and finally looked at it. </p><p> </p><p>All the air disappeared from his lungs. </p><p> </p><p>He knew almost everyone in the photo. </p><p> </p><p>It made sense because he had once worked with a group sitting near the center.</p><p> </p><p>The photo itself looked old, with crinkled edges and faded colors. However, the image itself was still beautiful. It was of a large group of people sitting together on some white marble steps, which were in front of radiant quartz archways. You could see that the sky was dark in the background, and stars hung in above the players in the photo. </p><p> </p><p>Among the arches were sea lanterns lighting the scene and giving everyone a ghostly blue glow. Some weapons were drawn, their edges gleaming for a promised battle. They might’ve even looked scary had it not been for the warm smiling faces of the subjects. </p><p> </p><p>Though it seemed that everyone was armed to the teeth, not a single person looked ready to fight. Instead, they were awkwardly bumping shoulders and posing like a group of teens who had just gotten their first camera. </p><p> </p><p>Sitting in the center row was the rest of Business Bay, the faction that Tommy had found himself caught up in on SMP Earth. He saw Deo’s bright smile and started smiling himself. There was even a grinning Jack Manifold waving at the camera. </p><p> </p><p>The front row held some people he had seen before but knew that he had forgotten their names. Silvee, was it? And Cara?</p><p> </p><p>The back row was the most interesting. Near the left side was Fit and Sal, both flexing their arms in an apparent test of strength. Smiling at their shenanigans was Sneeg. </p><p> </p><p>Next to Sneeg were three people. Two of which Tommy knew well. </p><p> </p><p>The first was Wilbur, smiling with a light behind his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, Pogtopia’s Wilbur eyes had glowed, but his had burned been with the fire of destruction. </p><p> </p><p>This Wilbur’s eyes shone with happiness and peace. </p><p> </p><p>Unlike everyone else in the photo, Wilbur was completely unarmed. He wore a simple white shirt and nice black pants. If Tommy remembered correctly, this photo was probably for the moon landing team. Wilbur hadn’t needed armor because he was still an admin. He could just snap his fingers and be invulnerable. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy wondered if Wilbur missed it. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur had his arm wrapped around another man next to him, but Tommy’s eyes roamed to the other person in the trio. </p><p> </p><p>On the other side of the three was Philza, with a smile of his own. Pride, joy, nothing could even come close to describing the pure emotion that Tommy saw in his eyes. Most of the people in the photo were looking at the camera, but those three were looking at each other. Will’s eyes were on Phil and the person in between them, Phil’s eyes were on Wilbur and the other man. </p><p> </p><p>The other man. </p><p> </p><p>A pink braid hung down his left shoulder, and a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth like he hadn’t wanted to smile in the first place. This small scene amid the chaos of the photo looked very sweet and familial. Wilbur and Phil looked pleased with themselves that the other man had smiled. </p><p> </p><p>A pig mask. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s hand was on the man’s right shoulder, and Phil’s gray, left wing was wrapped around the pair in a gentle, protective hug. </p><p> </p><p>Hooves.</p><p> </p><p>The middle man’s eyes were on Wilbur and Phil, but his gaze didn’t seem to be all there. His attention seemed focused inwards.</p><p> </p><p>Like he was realizing something about himself. </p><p> </p><p>A gleaming set of enchanted diamond armor, casting his expression in a soft glow. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone in the photo looked like they had a story to tell, but all Tommy could stare at was the group of three. Two people he would consider family… and a person he had never met. </p><p> </p><p>A delicate silver crown adorned his pink head, catching the light of the sea lanterns. Its peaks were made to look like the rays of a rising sun- or moon because the silver made it look much more like the gentle moon rays of the night. </p><p> </p><p>Though it was hard to make out, Tommy could see almost regal clothing underneath the man’s armor. </p><p> </p><p>Pink hair</p><p> </p><p>Pig mask. </p><p> </p><p>Hooves. </p><p> </p><p>Crown. </p><p> </p><p>Regal. </p><p> </p><p>There was literally only one person who fit that description, but it couldn’t be. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t be. </p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade wasn’t a part of SMP Earth. Maybe he’d just showed up as a mercenary or something for the moon landing. So then why was he so close with Phil and Wilbur? As far as Tommy had known, they had never even met. </p><p> </p><p>They had been at the duel with him after Tommy had said he wanted to see Dream and Technoblade fight. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur and Phil didn’t know him. They hadn’t <em>ever </em>known him. </p><p> </p><p>It <em> could not </em> be Technoblade. </p><p> </p><p>The letter. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Of people I’ve forgotten and those who have likely forgotten me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Forgotten…</p><p> </p><p>Forgot… </p><p> </p><p>Tommy snapped himself out of the spiral. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo. </p><p> </p><p>He had to find Tubbo. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy stood, feeling unfocused and dizzy. </p><p> </p><p>The next thirty minutes passed in a hazy blur. The conversations echoing in his mind for hours after. After, he rushed to his home and sat on the floor, feeling tears fall down his face involuntarily. </p><p> </p><p>He had indeed found Tubbo, but he had also found quite a few others. </p><p> </p><p>Quackity, Fundy, Ranboo. </p><p> </p><p>They had been yelling at someone. </p><p> </p><p>Large black walls grew from the ground. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tubbo, what’s going on? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy- Tommy, I need you to stay out of this.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No, now that he’s here why doesn’t he speak to the court? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That had been Dream’s voice. </p><p> </p><p>Dream, in all his glory, hopped down from the wall. Face completely covered by that expressionless mask. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So you’re saying that it wasn’t you.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Of course it wasn’t fuckin’ me! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Two witnesses saw you and Ranboo leaving the crime scene.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What do you mean, the pussy shack that George built? Someone finally destroyed it? Good on them.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So, it was Ranboo then. Sorry for any misunderstanding Tubbo, I’ll take down the walls and deal with him on my own- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It wasn’t Ranboo! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy doesn’t remember where that fire had come from. He hadn’t thought that he would have to face this so soon, but Dream’s tone as he threatened Ranboo broke Tommy immediately. Not Ranboo. He didn’t deserve Dream’s wrath. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It wasn’t Ranboo! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had practically screamed the words, pushing past Tubbo to stare Dream in the face, or, well, mask. </p><p> </p><p>Underneath the mask, Dream began to smile. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So then who was it, Tommy? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dream’s words sounded upright and stoic like he was pursuing justice, but Tommy knew better. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Not me, not Ranboo. It’s none of your fucking business! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Everything that happens on this server is my business.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Not when you’re obviously just looking for any way to control L’Manberg! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There was silence. Tubbo froze in fear. Gears turned in Quackity’s head. Fundy bit his tongue, knowing that Tommy was right. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had continued. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You’re just back to your old tricks. I saw it happen to Wilbur, and I’m not going to let it happen again.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy, this has nothing to do with Wilbur- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What then, my discs? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He had been so upset. Tommy was still reeling from the letter, having to deal with Dream when all he really wanted to do was sit with Tubbo and work through what he had just read overwhelmed him. His whole reason for going to find Tubbo was to get his friend to support him, instead, he was dealing with an interfering Dream who seemed like he wanted to screw everything up again. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Remember Dream, I still have Spirit. So if you’re gonna try and threaten me or my country, think about what you could lose. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy remembers smiling at the man, thinking he had won, but then there was that damning pause. </p><p> </p><p>Then, coldly,</p><p> </p><p><em> This isn’t about me. This isn’t about L’Manberg. This is about </em> <b> <em>you.</em> </b> </p><p> </p><p>Dream had stepped forward, making Tommy retreat. There was a very dangerous edge to the admin’s voice that Tommy had not heard in a long time. Tommy was scared. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is about the fact that you seem unable to not be a problem for even a week- a week, Tommy! I don’t give a FUCK about Spirit when there are more important things on the line!  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dream- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had looked imploringly at Tubbo, at <em> anyone, </em> to help him. No one had offered any defense. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy, you think you can fucking threaten me? You know what? Burn it. Burn the last memory I have of my horse right now, right here in front of me.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>In the present, Tommy was sitting against the wall of his home, curled into a ball, listening to Dream’s words repeatedly scream in his mind. </p><p> </p><p><em> I don’t fucking care about Spirit, alright? I care about the SMP. I care about </em> <b> <em>you.</em> </b> <em> This needs to stop, Tommy. Your little pranks are getting out of hand. What’s next? Who is it going to be next? Who are you going to hurt next? </em></p><p> </p><p>In the present, Tommy was hiccuping. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo had come forward next. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dream, what do you want us to do? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I want him to have to face consequences for his actions. This can’t keep happening.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We don’t even know if it was Tommy- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> IT WAS HIM! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy barely remembers the letter. </p><p> </p><p>Today was just too much. </p><p> </p><p>The letter. </p><p> </p><p>Dream. </p><p> </p><p>The walls. </p><p> </p><p>But Dream had been right, he needed to face consequences... right? </p><p> </p><p>Dream had sighed, turning to leave like a cat might while playing with a mouse. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’ll give you twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours to give me a decision on what you’re going to do. Either you let me decide a fitting punishment for Tommy, or these walls continue to be built until you all starve.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He had left, and Tubbo had turned to Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tubbo, I found this letter- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Who cares about the letters, Tommy! Dream just threatened to embargo L’Manberg! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He won’t go through with it, not if we stand up to him. He’s only trying to- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Trying to what? You know what, Tommy, I’m starting to agree with him! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had stood there in shocked silence, staring at his friend. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What do you mean?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had said softly. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I mean that everything that’s been going wrong has been because of you! You’re my vice, Tommy! I thought you’d start acting like it! Instead, you’re obsessed with these letters while I’m trying to keep our country safe from whatever felony you decide to commit next! You’re being selfish! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo had tried to step in.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy stood up for me, that’s not selfish- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Well, he should’ve thought of others before doing it in the first place! Everyone here is in danger because of him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy looked at his friend. He didn’t understand where this was coming from. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t recognize Tubbo. </p><p> </p><p>Like he couldn’t recognize Wilbur. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy felt sick.</p><p> </p><p>Back in the present, Tommy was still sitting on the ground of his home, replaying Tubbo’s words again and again. </p><p> </p><p>If Tubbo wasn’t there for him…</p><p> </p><p>And everything he thought he knew about Wilbur was wrong… </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t trust Phil… </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You can’t trust anyone, Tommy.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s falsely caring, silky voice purred in his mind. </p><p> </p><p>Every safety net he thought he had was crumbling. </p><p> </p><p>What was he left with?</p><p> </p><p>Tommy of the past had been cocky, saying,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What, then? Are you going to exile me? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m going to do what’s best for this country, whether you like it or not. So yeah, maybe I will. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy felt like he had been stabbed. He couldn't breathe. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Just be careful Tubbo. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had spat the next words out like poison. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Don’t be the next Schlatt. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s eyes had widened in shock at first, but grew dark as he responded, </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Then you can’t be the next Wilbur.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The friends had glared at each other, a very palpable tension weighing on the air. Then,</p><p> </p><p><em> I’m going to go and try to figure out how to save this country from </em> <b> <em>you.</em> </b> <em> I want you to sort out your priorities because as they are now, you cannot stay here.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Tommy had almost broken down right then and there, but he steeled himself instead and said, </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Fine. Go listen to the guy who started this whole thing. Go be the pawn you are.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s gaze was cold. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Go home, Tommy. Don’t make this any worse.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had gone home. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had gone home, shoved himself in a corner, and cried. </p><p> </p><p>By the time his tears had stopped, he was exhausted. Too exhausted to even attempt to stand and make it to his bed. </p><p> </p><p>Were they right? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Dream! Let me be your vassal.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>History was repeating itself. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy didn’t know what to do. </p><p> </p><p>Everything was too much. </p><p> </p><p>Too much. </p><p> </p><p>That letter had shaken him to his core, and he didn’t even have time to process it. The letter- the burning house- Ranboo- SMP Earth- Tubbo- L’Manberg- <em> his discs- </em> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Technoblade- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t have time to think about that. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy couldn’t help but feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. All it would take was one strong breeze and he would be falling. </p><p> </p><p>He needed to stop history from repeating. He needed to stop Dream. </p><p> </p><p>But what if Dream had been right?</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike> He wasn’t.  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike> He was.  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy didn’t want him to be right, but he was. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Let’s be the bad guys.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That’s all he was. A bad guy. </p><p> </p><p>He had thought he was the hero. Or even just a kid. </p><p> </p><p>Trouble was the only thing he had ever brought. </p><p> </p><p>Everything was his fault. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy put his head into his hands and wept until he drifted off into dreamless sleep. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Somewhere else, a man drew a thin red line in between two names on a piece of paper: Technoblade and Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>He smiled.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All I gotta say about this chapter: oh no.</p><p>This turned out so much longer than I had planned, lol</p><p>Any theories?<br/>What was going on with Dream and the server errors? Raise your hand if you’re sus of Dream and whatever he’s got planned<br/>What are you thinking about that SMP Earth photo?<br/>What happened to Technoblade?<br/>Also rip Tommy, poor guy had to defend himself while having an existential crisis</p><p>Also there was some lore/world building/mechanic stuff, so if you have any clairifying questions, lmk in the comments. I would gladly explain more</p><p>Kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments are always appreciated.<br/>[I would especially love comments about this chapter, as it is very different than others I’ve done, and I’m very worried about how y’all like it. I’m also open to constructive feedback.]</p><p>EDIT: oops, here's the next chapter's title for y'all:<br/>sure it’s complicated, hey, but right and wrong are always gray</p><p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>be safe &lt;3<br/>Much love,<br/>Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. sure it's complicated, hey, but right and wrong are always gray</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream and Tubbo talk.</p>
<p>(Or: Dream gets an Oscar for his acting skills and Tubbo makes a decision)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>C!dream is a manipulative bastard</p>
<p>EVERYTHING HURTS AND I'M DYING LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO</p>
<p>(also 50k words, pog?)</p>
<p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dawn. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The time for reflection. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The time for new beginnings. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>People often wait for New Years to make life-altering changes or plan for resolutions they know they’ll never hold to for longer than a month. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But every day starts the same. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Every day allows you to make resolutions. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Every day you can wake up and say: <em> I’m going to make a change. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s significantly harder, however, when one doesn’t ‘wake up’ at dawn. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a sleepless night, the dawn is less hopeful and more exhaustingly repetitive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo sighed, rubbing his eyes. This marked- what? Day five of no sleep? Well, no sleep was a bit extreme, and Tubbo was sure that Tommy was doing worse than him. So what was another empty night of reflection to the man whose country’s fate currently balanced in making the right decision? He needed to put his country first. L’Manberg mattered more than anything. More than his own wellbeing. More than some petty conflict. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But more than Tommy?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>More than his friend?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo didn’t know what to do as he sat there silently on the half-finished obsidian walls Dream had built around L’Manberg, kicking his legs while dangling them over the edge. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun had just begun to peak over the horizon so that it only lit up the very tops of the L’Manberg homes. No one else seemed to be awake yet, though it was likely because the L’Manberg cabinet- minus Tommy- had been up incredibly late debating what to do. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the end, it fell onto Tubbo’s shoulders. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He agreed with Quackity and Fundy that Dream was just testing them, but could shake the worry of what might happen if he refused the admin’s request. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If he was to do nothing, and Dream was to <em> actually </em> attack, Tubbo wasn’t sure he could handle the guilt from it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the end, <em>everything</em> fell onto Tubbo’s shoulders. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a selfish second, Tubbo wanted Tommy to feel that weight. Wanted <em> him </em> to have to bear the responsibility for a change. Be crushed under it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo scowled. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It <em> always </em> fell onto Tubbo’s shoulders, didn’t it?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This ‘President’ thing surely hadn’t been his idea. He much rather would’ve gone with Tommy to work on getting back the final disc from Dream. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he had a responsibility to the people of L’Manberg. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They trusted him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He couldn’t just give that up for some music discs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who was Wilbur to pass off the position to Tommy? And who was Tommy to pass off the position to Tubbo?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How was this any different from a hostile takeover? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo hadn’t been elected. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing circles on his temples. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later, when the country wasn’t in imminent danger, Tubbo could think about that. He had <em>already</em> been thinking about it, to be honest, planning an election for sometime in the New Year. The people certainly trusted him for now, and that meant he needed to make the right decision for them, regardless of how much he wanted that burden. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He remembers hearing something once about how great leaders often didn’t want the responsibility. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo could empathize. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sure, he definitely wanted to help the people of L’Manberg, but he had thought that would’ve been because of his bee and honey farm, or maybe even from a simple place in the cabinet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Being the be-all-end-all ultimate leader was not where he had seen himself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, again he repeated mentally, regardless of how much he hated this job, he <em> needed </em> to do something. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stop Dream. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Save Tommy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>...Hurt his people?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Listen to Dream. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hurt Tommy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Save his people. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t know what to do. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Last night he had agreed with Quackity and Fundy to push back against Dream’s tyranny, but now…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now he was starting to wonder if Dream might be right. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>From his argument with Tommy yesterday, a few things had become abundantly clear to the President. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>One. Tommy was infinitely more interested in the discs and letters than he was in political matters, which wasn’t much of a surprise. But the casual flippancy with which Tommy had just <em> ignored </em> the danger they were in didn’t sit right with Tubbo. Maybe it was because Tubbo had actual responsibility in the matter, but Tommy was supposed to be his Vice-President, he was supposed to be defending <em> Tubbo </em> not the other way around. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two. He seemed to be unwilling to accept any moral blame for what he had done. He had lied, swindled, cheated-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That wasn’t a new thing though. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy had been that way his entire life. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo wanted to scream. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why was everything so easy for Tommy? Why was he able to get away with almost anything with no marks to show for it?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even if this time was forgivable, who was to say that it would stay this way? Who was to stay that the next time someone wouldn’t get irrevocably hurt?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo hadn’t been thinking when he had angrily returned Tommy’s Schlatt insult. He hadn’t been thinking that Tommy was <em> really </em> like Wilbur. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But… thinking about it now?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wondered if they were more alike than anyone had realized. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe it was just a matter of time before Tommy succumbed to whatever perversion Wilbur had been trapped by. No one had seen Wilbur’s final moments coming. No one had suspected the truth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo would <em> not </em> let L’Manberg be destroyed again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He would not. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not even if it cost him his friend. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, uh- Tubbo? You alright?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo opened his eyes to see Dream standing in the grass at the base of the wall, hands in the pocket of his green hoodie, staring up at the President with tender concern written all over his face. His mask was halfway off in a relaxed gesture, showing his somewhat dirty blonde hair that was blowing in the morning breeze. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want my honest answer, Dream?” Tubbo said with slight sarcasm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream laughed gently, “I suppose you probably aren’t.” He looked around the city for a moment, his gaze eventually settling on the docks in the distance. “Look, Tubbo, I’m currently on my way to deal with an administrative issue,” his eyes turned back to Tubbo, “but I also wanted to talk to you about… today.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo narrowed his eyes for a second and, putting on a brave face, said, “I don’t know what would make you think that I want to talk to <em> you. </em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I get it.” Dream put his hands up innocently. “I really do. I was angry yesterday- understandably so- but I reacted irrationally and rudely. For that I am sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The President watched the admin for a second, eventually sighing and nodding to the wall next to him, “I’ll listen, Dream.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wanted to make my case,” Dream said, pulling himself onto the wall and sitting next to Tubbo. Not uncomfortably close, but closer than Tubbo would’ve expected. “I know I have no right to make a plea to you, as I am not a citizen of L’Manberg-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait, a plea?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream sighed, and for the first time ever, Tubbo saw something new flash behind his eyes. A complicated stew of concern and something that seemed like defeated resignation. Something that scared Tubbo. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had seen that look before. That was the look of someone who had reached a decision they really didn’t like. He had seen it on his own face. He had heard it in his own voice. He had <em> felt</em> it. He had felt just like that too many times to count recently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Tubbo…” Dream began, “I just don’t… I just don’t know what to do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He raised his eyebrows at the admin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy’s a problem. I know he’s your friend, but I also know that <em> you </em> know I’m right. He can’t keep getting away with things like this.” Dream made gentle gestures to accompany his words, “he needs something of a consequence. I don’t… I don’t want him to hurt someone else, and more importantly I don’t want him to hurt himself.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo turned fully to Dream in surprise, “since when do you care what happens to Tommy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Since forever!” Dream said emphatically, “I always have. I care about every single person on this server. It’s <em> mine. </em> That makes <em> every single one </em> of your safeties <em> my </em> responsibility.” The solitary eye Tubbo could see turned to look at him, “you understand, right, Tubbo? Needing to look after people even if you might not like the responsibility?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A heavy weight settled in Tubbo’s gut. “I do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream sighed again, “I know that you think what I’ve done to L’Manberg before now doesn’t support the fact that I <em> care, </em> but I do. Fighting you in that revolution, that was because I thought what I was doing would protect the SMP. I thought that keeping you within the Greater SMP would allow me to protect you.” He paused, “I see that I was… partially wrong. Now,” he continued, “I can see that you all are <em> able </em> to thrive without my guidance or interference, it just requires a leader who can lead <em> well. </em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo tilted his head questioningly, “what are you saying?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What I’m saying,” Dream stated slowly, “is that under <em> your </em> leadership, L’Manberg has been a wonderful place, both for its people and for its neighbors.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, there’s nothing special about my leadership.” Tubbo shook his head, “I’m just- well, me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s just it, Tubbo.” Dream encouraged, “you’re you! And you’ve brought a lot of positive changes to L’Manberg. You’ve been better than Schaltt and Wilbur ever were! And you haven’t even been President a month yet!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you, I guess? But, Dream-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream pivoted to face Tubbo, “I know that I haven’t respected L’Manberg in the past, but that’s because I didn’t think that it could be a place worthy of my respect. With you in charge it can be! For the first time I could really see us working together.” Dream’s face fell, and, frowning, he said carefully, “there’s just one problem.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy,” Tubbo answered softly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-” Dream’s face constricted with painful emotion, “I don’t want to do this- and I know that you are going to completely disagree with me- but I think that exiling him-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re right.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-would be the best option to protect L’Manberg.” Dream paused, shock spreading across the part of his face Tubbo could see, “wait, what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo sighed, “you’re right.” He put his head into his hands and groaned quietly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tubbo?” Dream leaned closer and put a gentle arm around the President, “hey, you’re okay. It’s okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just don’t want to hurt him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But you won’t you’ll actually be-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It would be a betrayal.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream squeezed Tubbo’s shoulder gently, “it’s not. You’re not going to hurt him, you’re going to <em> help </em> him, and simultaneously help L’Manberg. Helping a friend by doing what is right, even if they can’t see it at first, is <em> not </em> a betrayal.” Tubbo looked up at Dream who was watching him with concern, “Tommy is your friend, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He is!” Tubbo said indignantly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s not what I meant.” Dream took his hand away from Tubbo’s shoulder and instead clasped his hands. “Look, if you helped a friend who was dangerous to themselves and others by distancing them from the situation so that they could heal in a safe way, you’d consider that an act of friendship, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...I guess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy will realize it’s for the best.” Dream said firmly, “he’s your friend, friends help each other. It might take some time, but he’ll eventually understand that this was for the better.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You agreed with me, Tubbo!” Dream said, letting go of Tubbo’s hands in order to gesticulate, “you agreed that exile might be the best option. It would protect L’Manberg because he wouldn’t be associated with it, and it would protect Tommy in that it’s barely even a punishment.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dream-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The admin continued, “he just needs to learn that there are consequences for his actions. Plus, the exile doesn’t stop you from visiting him. This isn’t for Tommy. It’s for L’Manberg.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For L’Manberg,” Tubbo repeated hesitantly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a pause as Dream slowly relaxed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tubbo, I-” he said, “I don’t want to force you to make a decision now, but I’d like you to think about what I said.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream smiled, “I just want what is best for my people.” The eye Tubbo could see turned downcast, both literally and emotionally, “if you don’t act soon, I will. I will do what is necessary if you can’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll do it,” Tubbo said hastily. “I’ll do it,” he repeated with resigned courage. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good. Remember, Tubbo,” Dream said, “you’re <em> helping </em> him, even if he can’t see that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks… Dream.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream leaned in and hugged Tubbo, saying, “I’m sorry you had to do this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At first, Tubbo tensed, his brain processing that this was the man who had been their enemy in not one but two wars, but then he melted into Dream’s warm embrace, returning the hug, “it’s the best thing for everyone.” His voice almost broke as Dream pulled away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was such care on Dream’s face that Tubbo wondered why he had never noticed before. Dream really had their best interests in mind. He might not have executed that desire in the best of ways in the past, but the intention was there. Maybe L’Manberg and the Dream SMP could be allies after all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you, Dream, for talking with me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A soft smile. “Of course, I’m glad I could help you solve such a difficult problem.” He looked at the still-rising sun. “I need to deal with that administrative issue now, but like I said yesterday, I’ll be back in twenty-four hours. So this afternoon I’ll return so that you can announce your decision in front of everyone, I’ll back you up if need be. That cabinet of yours needs to learn to respect your decisions, you <em> are </em> the President, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am.” Tubbo said with a frown, “they do need to listen to me.” Tommy didn’t listen to him, he was selfish, and now look where that got <em> him. </em> If Quackity and Fundy continued to impose their own opinions on the L’Manberg proceedings as if Tubbo was nothing but a doormat, Tubbo would have to deal with them too. “You know what, Dream,” Tubbo said with a sudden realization, “you’re right. They need to obey me. I’m the one in power here. I’m making the hard calls, I deserve a little more respect.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll make sure you get that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo grinned at the admin, “I think this is the start to a wonderful partnership.” He offered a hand for a handshake. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream took it eagerly, “I agree, <em> Mr. President. </em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tubbo felt himself almost glow with the acknowledgement of his title. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>L’Manberg was <em> his </em> country, and he was going to do whatever it took to keep it safe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the end, everything fell onto Tubbo’s shoulders. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he was going to bear the weight. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was going to bear it <em> well, </em> and gods have mercy on whoever dared to get in his way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Heyyyyyy, guys…<br/>How are we feeling?</p>
<p>Not many questions for this chapter, just  f e a r<br/>(except: where was Dream going before he stopped to speak with Tubbo? What is he planning to do about the ‘administrative issue’?)</p>
<p>Y’all know what’s coming soon o_o</p>
<p>I wanted to spend a little time here also updating you on my current writing schedule which is as follows:<br/>Roughly three uploads per week spread between TSS (A Triangle is the Strongest Shape), The Extradition, DTJL (A Degenerate Triangle is Just a Line), and one-shots<br/>Usually I plan to post something every other day if I don’t get swamped with work again out of the blue<br/>Sometimes the three uploads might be two Extradition chapters and one TSS<br/>Sometimes it might be one TSS, one DTJL, and a one-shot<br/>It depends how I’m feeling :)<br/>Regardless, there should be around three posts combined each week</p>
<p>Additionally I wanted to tease some in-development works I have:</p>
<p>Within the “Of Shapes and Songs” series/the TSS au universe: [follow or bookmark the series if you want to be notified when I post these]<br/>A one-shot named “Tuning Fork” (focusing on an event)<br/>A three-chapter short called “Calligraphy” (focusing on a character)<br/>[want to try and guess what event and what character? :) I may have mentioned these before, I forgot, lol]</p>
<p>Outside of the series:<br/>A one-shot named “Dithyramb” (a headcanon I have about c!techno’s chat’s appearance)<br/>A fun, currently unnamed one-shot about the Shady Oaks SMP meeting the Dream SMP and Hermitcraft server<br/>A one-shot called “I’d Bet My Life For You” (angsty theoretical story about Quackity’s casino)</p>
<p>And for the ten of you out there who have subscribed to me as a user? Hi? I think I love you? Anyway, you’re super cool, whoever you guys are &lt;3</p>
<p>Anyway, that’s it for now! I hope y’all are thriving because I am not! I’m currently recovering from a terrible week, but I’m getting through it :D<br/>Everything will get better tho! I’m drinking water and focusing on the good things</p>
<p>Thank you so much for all the support!<br/>Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions mean more than I could ever say with words &lt;3</p>
<p>Chapter 16: (we finally get to see what happened to Technoblade)<br/>but they need you, so why lie and say that you don’t need them too?</p>
<p>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night!<br/>be safe, friends!<br/>Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. but they need you, so why lie and say that you don’t need them too?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The ticking continues, ceaselessly marching onwards.<br/>Technoblade dreams.</p><p>Sam opens the game.<br/>Dream reveals a few of the cards up his sleeve.<br/>Techno realizes he doesn’t want to play.</p><p>(Or: “a strange game, the only winning move is not to play.”<br/>Quoted from the movie “WarGames”<br/>But how can you quit a game when people are depending on you, whether you like it or not? Damned if you do, damned if you don’t; there is no winning in this game called life)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>New character tag, pog?<br/>“Ghost in the machine” mentioned in this chapter is in reference to Cartesian Dualism (a separation between mind and body)<br/>look it up if you want, it’s pretty interesting :D<br/>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He is standing there alone, a few feet into the ocean so that the waves are gently lapping at his ankles. It feels so nice as the water pushes the sand across the ocean floor back and forth between his hooves.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The sea moves rhythmically, with a viscosity more similar to that of honey than of water. It is as if everything physically around him has slowed to a snail’s pace, yet he stands there free, moving as he pleases through time.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Technoblade can hear the calls of seagulls, though none are visible.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> As a whole, it doesn’t feel ‘wrong’ per se, but it doesn't feel ‘right’ either. It is somewhere in between reality and imagination.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Everything that </em> <b> <em>was</em> </b> <em> there </em> <b> <em>is</em> </b> <em> still there, but with ever so slight, almost unnoticeable changes. If one wasn’t paying attention, they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between that which </em> <b> <em>should</em> </b> <em> have been and that which </em> <b> <em>appears</em> </b> <em> to be.  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A slight gray haze hangs over the weary beach, but there is no fog. In the distance, a massive stormcloud looms, gargantuan bolts of lightning streaking across its surface. He can hear thunder every once and a while, and it crashes into him like a wave, vibrating against his soul like it is a gong to be wrung.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> For a second, he considers the phrase ‘his soul’ before the reflection is whisked away like the tide into the ocean. It must not have mattered then. He was safe here… right? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wait, was he? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Again, the thought is pulled from his mind, but it does not concern him.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Should it? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He takes a deep breath. Something inside of him calms him, saying: it is alright to be worried, it is alright to be scared, but know that you are safe here.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It feels like home.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The ocean breeze grows in power, whipping Techno’s unbound hair into his face. Techno lets it. It feels much more real this way.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He shivers. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It is cold.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It is so very cold.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He can’t remember if it was always this cold, or if this memory had just become corrupted as such. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Technoblade pauses.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Memory? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Is this not real? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Of course it’s not real, dickhead.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He turns around to face a man who is walking through the shallow waves toward him. Along with a goofy grin, Wilbur Soot wears cuffed jeans and a white t-shirt. Technoblade looks down at himself and sees that he is wearing comfortable, loose black pants and a light blue dress shirt with a deep purple sash tied around his waist to compliment it. Techno raises his eyes back up at the other in shock. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur laughs at his expression. “You leave and say you’ll never return, but where does that bring you? Back to me.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I-” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Don’t think too hard, or you’ll hurt your pretty little head. Why care? You won’t remember this anyway.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ah, yes. Technoblade relaxes, recognizing the truth in Wilbur’s statement.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Are you-” he asks quietly, carefully, as if trying to calm a coiled snake, “are you… Wilbur?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Wilbur blinks at him, showcasing gleaming, </em> <b> <em>blue</em> </b> <em> eyes. “I am Wilbur, or… whatever you used to call this. ‘Ghost in the shell’, was it?” He waves it off indifferently, “you and your stupid philosophies.” </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Technoblade laughs, mesmerized by Wilbur’s eyes, forgetting for a moment who is the snake and who is the snake charmer as he smiles, perfectly at ease. “Ghost in the machine, Will. Plus, you’re more what? A ghost? Or a machine?” </em> <em><br/>
<br/>
</em></p><p>
  <em> “Machine, I suppose.” Wilbur frowns lightheartedly, shrugging. “Well, what can you do once you’re dead?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He laughs again. “But you shouldn’t be here, right? Your soul is-” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “My soul and body are gone, but my mind still wanders- along with all of the ‘happy memories’ or whatever that means- courtesy of our now mutual friend.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Our… mutual friend?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> For a second, Wilbur’s voice is laced with something as sweet as sugar, but as deadly as poison, and Technoblade feels sick. “Come on, Techno, you know I can’t give you more than that. It’ll practically summon them. And we don’t want that, now do we?”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Ti- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He agrees, trying to calm the nervous feeling in his stomach, “no, we would not want that.” It only manages to make him feel worse. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur smiles dazzlingly at him, once again locking eyes with Techno. Everything goes away.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Everything is fine.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He comes closer, taking Technoblade’s hands in his own.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Techno cannot feel them, and he hates it, but it gives him a strange sense of comfort to know that nothing has changed here. When everything else in his life is falling apart, this stays constant.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> An anchor. A grounding wire.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur stares at him and says three striking words: “I miss you.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Techno’s breath catches in his throat for a second as the words threaten to rip him in half and send the pieces floating listlessly into the abyss. Into nothing.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He is nothing.   </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He looks away from Wilbur’s eyes.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Techno snaps back to ‘reality.’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You physically cannot miss me, Will. I know how this works.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Aw, shucks.” Wilbur laughs sheepishly. “You actually fucking remembered this time.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “This time?” Technoblade asks, gently rubbing circles into the hands of the other who he still cannot feel, hoping for some semblance of realism in this broken world.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Bruh.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hey, don’t steal my line!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Tick. </em> <em><br/>
<br/>
</em></p><p>
  <em> Wilbur giggles and takes his hands away, stepping backward, farther from shore. He takes something else with him too, something Technoblade desperately wants back.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Something lost. Something stolen. Are they not the same? Are lost things not simply things stolen by fate? A moment stolen here and there. Something he never got to experience. Something he never would experience again. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Come on, Techno!” Wilbur’s voice traps him, sinking into every molecule of his body, mind, and soul, drawing him in like a boa constrictor. It has been so long since he has heard Wilbur’s voice. Far too long. Teasing, he shouts, “I know why you come here!”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Techno follows him deeper into the water, a sailor being led astray by a siren of his own invention. “What do you mean? Why do I come here?”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You come here- specifically here, this place, this time- quite a lot.” Wilbur’s words sound like he is speaking from the end of a long tunnel, and Techno is pulled forward to try and hear them better. “Can’t you figure it out by the massive storm behind me?” As Wilbur finishes, the clouds are lit up with the largest thunderbolt Techno has seen yet.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Cinematic bullshit,” he says, feeling the riptide below the surface of the sea beginning to tug at his legs.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Oh?” Wilbur continues to back up, dragging them further and further into the blue. Techno follows without caution. “Be careful, Blade, don’t want to get demonetized, do we?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The thunder reaches them and resounds against the shore in a deep boom.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Tick. </em> Silence. <em> Tick. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Technoblade grins, trailing after Wilbur and saying smugly, “Chat isn’t here. I can say whatever I want.” The edges of Techno’s pants have begun to scrape the top of the water, but he does not mind. Wilbur’s jeans are long past dry, the water having reached the other’s knees, and none of it matters. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Dance with me!” Wilbur cries, holding out his arms.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Techno laughs. “Absolutely not.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur spins in a mock attempt at a dance, the water forming a small whirlpool around him. He says in a sing-song voice, “remember when you taught me to waltz?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I do.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Well, it’ll be nothing like this!” Wilbur suddenly reaches down to cup some water in his palm and throws it at Technoblade.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Will!” He yells, but he is laughing.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> More water is sprayed at him.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Alright, that’s it!” Techno starts to return fire, Wilbur giggling the whole time like a child as he is hit in the chest by the next splash.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur shouts across the waves while continuing to flick water at Techno, “that’s why you come here!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “To be soaked by my twin?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A smile blossoms across Wilbur’s face, and he asks hesitantly, “twin?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Here,” Technoblade’s eyes soften as he meets Wilbur’s bright blue ones, “we are.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Aww, you big sap. I will cry.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> They keep messing around until Techno trips on the sandy seafloor and falls, only to be caught inches away from face-planting on the surface of the water.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Oi! Big guy! Be careful!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Technoblade smiles and allows himself to be helped up by the Wilbur with blue eyes. His eyes are so pretty. Techno could drown in them.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He wants to.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Why do I need to be careful when I have you to catch me?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I-” the blue eyes darken for a fraction of a second as Wilbur says, “I won’t always be there to catch you.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I know that.” Techno takes Wilbur’s hand, pulling them closer together. “But I also know why I’m here, I’ve always known.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur shakes his head with a smile. “No, you don’t.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “But… I’m here for you, aren’t I?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p><em> He laughs at Techno. “Oh, you poor fool.” Wilbur puts a hand against Technoblade’s cheek, and he can feel it. Techno leans into the touch; It’s so warm. “Techno,” Wilbur whispers, staring at his twin with those beautiful, sapphire eyes, “you’re not here because you </em> <b> <em>want</em> </b> <em> something. You’re here because you want to get </em> <b> <em>away</em> </b> <em> from something- something real.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “What?” His voice is so quiet. The question is said fearfully, angrily, but at the volume of a whisper.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Techno.” Wilbur’s hand is still against his face as he says, “you come here when a storm is brewing in your life, one you </em> <b> <em>need</em> </b> <em> to face, but all you really want to do is to act like it isn’t there, even if only for a brief moment.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The storm rumbles ominously as rain begins to fall. Strangely, Techno can feel each drop that lands on him with extreme clarity, and even though they are icily cold, they still burn him.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur takes his hand away and Techno leans after it for a second, not wanting to lose that touch, that connection. Pointing, Wilbur turns to the storm that is growing ever closer, “look. It calls to you.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “But,” Techno’s voice breaks, “I don’t want to go.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Oh, Techno.” Wilbur turns back and wraps Technoblade in a hug which he returns with reckless abandon. Please, please never let go. “You’ll always come back.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Techno claws at Wilbur’s shirt, but still cannot feel anything. He says those other damning three words: “I love you.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He feels Wilbur’s laugh before he hears it, growing from his diaphragm up into his chest. A terrible, horrible thing. A laugh ripped from sadness, torn directly from someone’s broken heart. Broken soul. “You fucking coward. Why could you never say it while I was alive?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Wilbur, I- I tried. I tried.” He sounds like he is begging as he clings to his twin’s form in anguish. “I tried, you wouldn’t listen!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Shh,” Will soothes, lightly running his fingers through Techno’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I’m so sorry!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Silence. The kind of silence that speaks volumes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The rain falls harder, threatening to drown out both of their words.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I don’t have memory permanence, Techno. I’m not real. You know this.” Wilbur tries to pull away, saying warningly, “your words mean nothing to me.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Technoblade pulls him back into the hug, and his twin lets him. “But they mean everything to me.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A louder crash of thunder. The waves pick up, the violent riptide underneath almost forcing them apart. He does not want to let go. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Tech, you must leave.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I-” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “You’ll always come </em> <b> <em>home.</em></b><em>"</em><em> It sounds like a command as Wilbur does manage to break the hug this time when he steps back and looks into Techno’s eyes.  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Home,” Technoblade repeats, losing himself in those two pools of blue. He falls forward exhaustedly into Wilbur’s arms like it was killing him to be separated from the other. A starving man to his only hope of salvation. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur smiles warmly, a supportive arm around Techno’s shoulders like he used to when they were kids. “You’ll come home, and I’ll be waiting-” he puts his other hand over Techno’s heart, “right here for you.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I don’t want to go.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Blue eyes stare into his soul. “You must.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I can’t.” He is so tired. Wilbur supports him as Technoblade almost falls over, pleading, “I don’t- I can’t- Will-” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tick. Tick. Tick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Shh, it’ll be like falling asleep. You won’t even remember that this happened.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Promise?” He is so tired. Techno reaches out a hand, closing his eyes slowly. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Darkness.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Terrifying darkness. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A hand wraps around his.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I promise.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A hollow, sonorous tick. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Like Wilbur had promised, Technoblade woke up with no memory of his dream, but he does feel as a slight pressure in his hand slowly fades away. </p><p> </p><p>It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was and how he had gotten here, but when he did, Techno just yawned, not feeling particularly worried about his situation. His mind had computed subconsciously that since he seemed to be feeling better and wasn’t currently chained up, whoever had taken him in had benevolent intentions, so he decided to stay put and work himself up into eventually standing and finding the person to thank. </p><p> </p><p>Techno took stock of his own body, expecting to find possible early cases of frostbite, maybe a few numb spots- things of the like that he learned were par for the course. With people like him who didn’t respawn consistently, aches, pains, and permanent injuries became the norm. However, on the contrary, Techno felt fine. </p><p> </p><p>He felt… <em> good </em> actually. Almost as fresh as after a respawn. </p><p> </p><p>Adjusting in the bed he was currently curled up on, Techno began to take in his surroundings. He was on a comfortable cot stuffed in the corner of a room with high ceilings, spruce beams running across it as supports. The ceiling itself was white, likely made of thick concrete or clay in order to keep the heat in, which Techno was assuming because he also assumed he was still in that winter village. </p><p> </p><p>He had been laying on his side, a bulky wool blanket wrapped around him and tucked in with the care that Techno would say should’ve belonged to the parents he never had. For a moment his thoughts turned to Phil until the rest of his mind rejected them and Technoblade grimaced. His thoughts moved elsewhere. </p><p> </p><p>A gentle crackling filled the space with quiet sound, and from the waves of heat that would wash over him, Techno could only think that there was a fire lit somewhere in the small house. Along with the popping of burning logs, he also heard the distant clinking of glass or china, though he could not hazard a guess at its origin. </p><p> </p><p>He sat up slowly, keeping the blanket wrapped around him. A few rolls of his shoulders and a stretch of his arms later, Techno, spurred on by the apparent lack of any lasting damage from his expedition through the snow, felt much more awake. From this, he guessed that he had either been out much longer than he had thought or that someone had slipped him a healing potion. There was also the option that he truly had died and respawned, but he wasn’t sure how that would’ve worked. Did someone put him in this bed before he died and it, therefore, acted as his respawn? He hoped that wasn’t the case because it would mean that whoever helped him might know his secret, which might not be a problem considering that his mysterious benefactor could be a villager for all he knew, but even if that was true, Techno would’ve preferred to avoid having to tell anyone on this server about it. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t exactly something he wanted to go around parading, especially not to people who might want to use him for that specific reason. Usually, on personal servers, which was pretty much any place other than Hypixel, he would find an admin he could trust and explain the <em> unique </em> situation in which he found himself. Wilbur had kept an eye out on SMP Earth, and even though it wasn’t necessary, Simon often checked in on him while he was on Hypixel. </p><p> </p><p>His worries were interrupted by the sound of a door opening, and Techno’s head whipped to face the noise. </p><p> </p><p>The intruder- possibly the homeowner, not intruder- seemed about as shocked to see Technoblade awake as Techno was surprised to see them. Techno’s eyes immediately landed on their face which was sprinkled with green splotches that resembled clusters of freckles. He might have been confused by that, had Techno not seen a creeper hybrid before. However, opposed to the other creeper-kin that he had met, this one’s face appeared much more gentle, which was a contradiction in itself, but there was a sort of innocence and honesty to the raw emotions that flashed across his face as his fingers tightened around a small china tea-cup when he met Techno’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh… hallo.” Techno gave the hybrid a small wave. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> SAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade cringed inwardly at the deafening scream from Chat that accompanied the creeper’s entrance. Evidently, they had woken up as well. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, good morning. Um-” the hybrid, who Techno assumed was named Sam, raised his eyebrows, a golden circlet around his head also moving slightly with the expression. “I was just making tea, give me a second, I’ll fix you a second cup.” He turned to leave then paused, saying, “you’re… good, right? You’re not going to die in the next five seconds when I leave the room?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… don’t think so?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam seemed to relax somewhat, and Technoblade liked the way the edges of his eyes crinkled with a genuine smile. It felt <em> real, </em> which Techno had learned was a trait to be valued in others simply because of its rarity. “I’ll be back in a second.”</p><p> </p><p>Moving the blanket to a more manageable position where it wasn’t as tight around him, Techno smiled and shook his head at the distracted man, who he deemed harmless for the moment, and continued to examine the house he was in. </p><p> </p><p>There were some small, clear glass-paned windows along the walls, but they were put to shame by the stained glass at the other end of the long rectangular room. It was beautifully made, with the colors melding somewhat, but still separate enough to not become dull by mixing <em> too </em> much. Light poured through the glass, producing a beautiful square of color on the spruce plank floor of the building. The sunlight also refracted around the room slightly so that some of the walls were lit up with multicolored light. It lent the space a homely feel, being that the glass seemed handmade.</p><p> </p><p>A new thought occurred to him, and Techno was surprised that it took him so long to notice as he realized that his head felt somewhat lighter because he was missing his crown and mask. Panic, then he saw them both sitting on a bedside table to his right. Techno gingerly picked up the crown and put it on his head, sighing with the familiar pressure. </p><p> </p><p>He turned to the mask next, taking a moment to just look at it before placing it on his face again. It was a stylized mask of a pig’s snout, with so many painted details it would take hours to really know them all.  Techno knew every inch of it though, he <em> had </em> taken hours looking at it. The mask had been a gift- the <em> only </em> gift- that he had ever received from his father, but why he still held on to it was a mystery even to himself. It certainly didn’t have much sentimental value, perhaps it even had the <em> opposite </em> connotation, but maybe that juxtaposition was what made it so important. It was a reminder. That, and he used it to cover up the scar that snaked over most of his face, shattering outward from a point on the bridge of his nose. It was something he could do without seeing for the rest of his life. To be honest, Techno hadn’t actually seen the full scar in a few years because he never dared to look at his reflection without the mask on, but even then, the scar tissue around his eyes was visible if you were looking for it, or precisely when you <em> weren’t </em> looking for it. He always caught flashes of the raised scars over his eyes if he turned his head at all while looking in a mirror. The scars themselves and the fact that, because of the injury, he needed reading glasses (which he almost considered himself lucky for having such insignificant damage for a very significant cause) would stick with him for the rest of his life. Whenever he saw the scar he remembered. Whenever he picked up a book, he remembered. It was always easier to remember the bad memories because of the simple fact that his mind and body responded to negative stimuli with much more weight than the positive. It was a survival mechanism born from his youth; it kept him safe. </p><p> </p><p>He hated it. </p><p> </p><p>But he could not do anything about the mask and crown. After every death, every respawn, those were always the two things to stick with him. (Like Phil’s wings, Techno thought.) ‘Soul-bonded’ was what people had called it. Something so indubitably intertwined with his conception of ‘self’ that it linked to his very soul. </p><p> </p><p>They weren’t reminders, he corrected, not really. He never needed to be reminded. </p><p> </p><p>They <em> were </em> him, an inseparable piece of him that Techno might’ve amputated if he only could. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, the creeper-hybrid returned with another delicate china teacup and handed it to Technoblade who accepted it gratefully. “I’m glad you found the mask and crown. I just thought you’d probably prefer not to sleep in them.” Pulling a small stool from the corner over to the side of the cot, the man sat down and took a sip from his own cup, then suddenly his eyes widened. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Technoblade, I am so sorry. I haven’t even introduced myself, you probably have no idea where you are-” he took a breath. “Thank you so much for not freaking out by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno chuckled. “I’ve woken up in worse places before. You… seemed alright.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-” Sam nodded once, smiling. “that’s a high compliment.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, as long as you’re not goin’ to kill me or-”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The creeper-hybrid burst into laughter, setting his cup on the table beside Technoblade’s cot that had previously held his mask and crown. “Nope, definitely not that.” His laughs sounded like he was pushing air through his teeth, producing a sound similar to “ts, ts, ts.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve already hit the bar, then.” Techno took a sip of his tea, slowly at first to check for any strange tastes like poison, but there were none. It seemed like cut-and-dry black tea. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s quite a low bar.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, I’ve learned that when it comes to me personally, people don’t exactly welcome me with open arms. It’s usually one end or the other, either I’m in some sort of prison or they’re friendly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Very… extreme.” The hybrid picked up his tea again, swirling it around in the fine china. </p><p> </p><p>“So, are you gonna tell me your name or…” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We already told you his name- ungrateful pig- he’s Sam- SAM- he’s a pretty cool dude- don’t trust him- isn’t he the brainiac- very powerful ally- watch out- what about the prison?- SAM’S THE MAN- nice guy- can be bought- prideful- he works with Dream- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Techno shook his head at Chat, not so far that Sam would notice anything, but slightly. Yeah, he had guessed the guy’s name from Chat’s ‘hints’, however, he usually didn’t use the fact that he had voices in his head that told him unknowable facts as an ice-breaker. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, jeeze, sorry.” Sam laughed again with that same strange hissing noise. Was it a creeper-hybrid thing? “I keep getting distracted. This wasn’t exactly my plan for the week, so I’m about as lost as you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What was your pla-” Techno cut himself off, laughing as well. “Okay, name first and then we can talk about what’s been goin’ on.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded. “Hello,” the creeper-hybrid said formally, offering a speckled green hand for a shake which Techno accepted, “my name’s Sam, Awesamdude if you prefer my full title. I’m an operator on the server, friends with Dream as pretty much everyone who comes here is. Uh… I like redstone?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll just need your mother’s maiden name-”</p><p> </p><p>Sam laughed, shaking his head. “It’s nice to meet you, Technoblade.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you introduced yourself,” Techno said, trying to hedge the slight seed of worry taking root in him, “but you already knew my name without an introduction?”</p><p> </p><p>“And that gets to the other thing I had mentioned.” Sam sighed. “No offense to you at all, but I wasn’t supposed to be out here. Dream- love the guy, but he’s a bit of a mess right now- forgot to hook you up to the server’s ley lines before setting you loose, and sent me, as an operator, to fix it. He gave me your name, and of course I’ve also heard of you before. But… without us, you could’ve died- like <em> died, </em> died.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Ah,” Techno said, frowning. This… could be a problem. The last time he had been on a server with personal administrator ley lines was on SMP Earth, and even those were carefully split between a few different admins, meaning they weren’t paying attention to his respawns. Even then, he had tried to keep them at a minimum, having one of the smallest death counts on the server. He had trusted one admin with the truth, which had been Wilbur, to have <em> discretion </em> by just not mentioning the blatant irregularity with Technoblade’s connection, but he worried that it definitely wouldn’t escape Dream’s notice if the man so chose to look into it. The only option here was to stay silent and pray that Dream just happened to miss it. </p><p> </p><p>Sam continued, “so Dream sent me out here to make sure that you were alright. I got lucky and heard that you had wandered in here and gotten picked up by a villager. It was Harry, by the way, he’s a great guy. You were in capable hands. Dream gave me general directions to get here, but luckily it was easy because I’ve visited before and this,” he motioned to the room, “is where I stay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for lettin’ me crash here, and uh- <em> not </em> lettin’ me die.”</p><p> </p><p>“No problem.”</p><p> </p><p>They drank their tea in silence. It seemed that neither really knew what to do about the other.</p><p> </p><p>Sam cleared his throat. “Dream is supposed to be dropping by as well to-”</p><p> </p><p>A door slammed open somewhere in the house. </p><p> </p><p>“Speak of the devil,” Techno said under his breath. </p><p> </p><p>The admin practically crashed into the room with his mask askew and wide eyes. “Techno!”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream rushed over and started fussing over Technoblade, “are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s fine, Dream.” Sam looked unimpressed. </p><p> </p><p>Techno was watching the admin closely as he looked over Techno for injuries. It was true that Dream had entered the room with very <em> expressive </em> urgency, however, it was also clear that he hadn’t really been hurrying. Dream wasn’t breathing heavily, and his eyes were too wide, almost as if he was forcing himself to seem worried. </p><p> </p><p>Like he was <em> acting. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I mean he might- we know him, right?- I wouldn’t put it- E- E- sounds like- He manipulated Tubbo!- Green is sus- walking green screen wants to- does he think that we’ll fall for- REMEMBER TUBBO- gone but not forgotten- E- guys, Tubbo isn’t dead, chill- don’t let him, Techno- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Don’t let him what? Chat wasn’t helping at all, and Techno was starting to feel more and more like he was being dissected like some hunted piece of venison. </p><p> </p><p>“Dream,” Techno said, pushing the masked man away, “I’m fine, seriously. Technoblade never dies.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but it was my bad.” Dream finally took a step back and crossed his arms. “You <em> could’ve </em> died, and I don’t want that on my conscience. I was so distracted when you joined that I forgot to connect you to the server.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno froze. He had thought the connection thing Sam had been talking about was a glitch. Connections were supposed to be automatic. </p><p> </p><p>Making manual connections meant that Dream had needed to deliberately change the default. It was purposeful. </p><p> </p><p>Which led him to the question: why?</p><p> </p><p>“I thought connections were done by the server magic itself, not the admin?”</p><p> </p><p>Dream shrugged. “It’s safer this way.”</p><p> </p><p>It was definitely not safer, which wasn’t common knowledge, but there was actually no difference in the execution between automatic servers and manual, though to explain how <em> Techno </em> knew would open a can of worms he didn’t want Dream to even <em> think </em> about. </p><p> </p><p>Techno narrowed his eyes slightly, glancing at Sam who looked like he’d rather be somewhere else. Did Sam know? He began to wonder if it wasn’t a <em> lie, </em> but rather, that the discrepancy was <em> whom </em> it was safer for. Before even joining the server, Techno had known something was up. All the little clues from Wilbur’s letters glared at him like red flags, but there was still no available conclusion. </p><p> </p><p>What was Dream planning?</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, then. Get it over with and let me get on my way.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream nodded and took a step forward, only to be interrupted by Sam saying simply, “I already fixed it while he was asleep.”</p><p> </p><p>A pause. </p><p> </p><p>“You what?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his tea, looking amusedly at Dream. “I fixed it. I’m honestly surprised that the server couldn’t do it on its own, it was pretty easy. You might want to look into that, Dream. If it was giving you connection and status errors, it might be the server that’s glitching, not Techno.” He glanced at Technoblade, saying, “sorry for the admin-speak. Basically, Dream got all worried about you because the server was having trouble forming a connection and thought that something might be up with you.” He smiled conspiratorially at Techno and turned to Dream who looked annoyed. “I think that the problem is with <em> your </em> power.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” Techno grinned. “Is someone havin’ a bit of trouble with their admin status?”</p><p> </p><p>Dream glared at both of them and said, “I’m doing fine.” His eyes flicked to Sam. “Well, if that’s it then, thank you Sam, you can get back to working on the project if you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.” Sam got up and put the stool back into the corner of the room. “Hey, Technoblade, just put the cup back into the kitchen before you leave. It was nice meeting you, I’m sure we’ll run into each other again sometime if you end up sticking around.”</p><p> </p><p>“It was nice to meet you too,” Techno said, “and thank you again for not lettin’ me die.”</p><p> </p><p>“Glad I could help.” Sam smiled and left with a small wave. Pausing, he asked in the doorway, “Dream, you wanna head back with me?”</p><p> </p><p>Dream shook his head. “There’s something I’ve gotta talk to Techno about first.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> OOo, it’s like getting called to the principal's office- sus man- this is not- I think he might- Techno is dead- E- E- E- EEE- dream sounds like- this is not going to be good- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“See you later then.”</p><p> </p><p>The door shut behind Sam. </p><p> </p><p>Techno stood, taking the cup with him and saying, “look, Dream, I don’t really want to talk right now. I just got up like twenty-minutes ago-”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t worry,” Dream said, following Techno into the kitchen where he began to wash out the cup. “It’s nothing important.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really, because it sounds important.”</p><p> </p><p>The admin tried to seem indifferent, but Techno could see half of his face. His expression was too focused for that. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s important to <em> me, </em> I suppose, but the decision should be easy for you. I really am sorry about not getting you hooked up into the respawn system,” Dream said, not sounding sorry at all, “and I wanted to re-extend the offer to come back to the main SMP with me. Seriously, Technoblade, I could use a-”</p><p> </p><p>Techno picked up a towel and started to dry the teacup. “Like I already said, I’m not interested in whatever you’re sellin’-”</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur seemed to think you would be.”</p><p> </p><p>He froze. Too long of a pause. “Wilbur didn’t know me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, now.” Dream smiled with that insufferable grin of a man who knows he hit a nerve. “You don’t need to lie to me, Wilbur told me everything.”</p><p> </p><p>Everything shattered. </p><p> </p><p>He returned the teacup to a cabinet with forced composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“Techno, I know about the letters.”</p><p> </p><p>A pause. There really was no way out of this one. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Not good! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade took a breath and said, “okay, so Wilbur wrote me letters. I don’t see what that has to do with anythin’. They were private and you had no right to go snoopin’-”</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t snooping!” Dream laughed, “Wilbur told me himself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Like I’d believe that.”</p><p> </p><p>They were now standing on opposite sides of the countertop as Techno turned around to face the admin. Dream leaned forward onto his elbows. </p><p> </p><p>“He told me a lot of things.” Dream tilted his head. “You know, Techno, all he really wanted was your attention. It really is a pity that you weren’t able to save him in time.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno clenched his fists, his voice low. “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t I?” Dream continued, an edge to his words, “why are you here, Techno?”</p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Techno was walking on thin ice. “I planned to leave soon.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then leave.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t do that yet, I need someone to-”</p><p> </p><p>Dream snapped his fingers and the doorway back to the room they had been in glowed white, an exit portal. “Go.” He smiled. “You wanted a Hypixel portal, right? I can change the destination if you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“I…” Techno was paralyzed. He hadn’t meant to confront this so soon. He hadn’t known that Dream could just… <em> do that. </em> (A thought flashed across his mind: only powerful admins were able to make a portal that quickly and easily.)</p><p> </p><p>“You said you wanted to leave, then <em> leave.” </em></p><p> </p><p>A pause. </p><p> </p><p>“This is what you wanted, Techno…” Dream just smiled at him, the curve of his lips a mirror to the smile on the mask. “Unless I’m right of course, and there’s something keeping you here.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade frowned, breaking and saying angrily, “so what if I have a reason to stay? It’s none of your business.”</p><p> </p><p>The admin tensed. “This is <em> my </em> server. Everything here is <em> mine. </em>” Dream seemed to deflate, and, sighing, closed the humming, white portal with a wave of his hand. Softly, “I know what makes you stay, Techno.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t respond. </p><p> </p><p>Dream continued, “you’re staying for Tommy and Phil.” A statement made with complete certainty. “I wonder what Phil would say if he found out about your little line of communication with Wilbur,” he mused, but there was something more sinister about it. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you threatening me with blackmail?”</p><p> </p><p>The admin put a hand over his chest and gasped with just too much energy for it to have been genuine. “I would never. I’m just trying to help.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, stop tryin’.” Techno moved to leave the house, but Dream’s next statement stopped him in his tracks. </p><p> </p><p>“I can revive Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can… <em> what?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“It would be simple, really,” Dream said, looking deep in thought. “I… got my hands on a book that practically gave me step-by-step instructions.” His eyes met Techno’s. “You’d like that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno just stood there in stunned silence. </p><p> </p><p>“And of course you would want Phil and Tommy safe.” His voice was sweet, as sweet as it could be at least when Techno knew that everything being said was a possible threat. A subtle warning that Dream could take as well as give. “I can make sure those things happen. I’m the only one who can, Techno.”</p><p> </p><p>“Phil and Tommy don’t know me.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you still care about them, you revealed as such as soon as you asked me to stay away from them when we spoke before. I can do that and I can even bring back Wilbur too. One big, happy family, finally together again.”</p><p> </p><p>The warrior, farmer, and, currently the most important epitaph, <em> twin </em> took a few deep breaths. Dream just waited, watching. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m assumin’ that you’re not doin’ this out of the kindness of your heart.” Technoblade resolved to hold off on any decision until he knew the full scope of what Dream was planning. “You want something from me.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream smiled and responded, “yes, but to put it more correctly, I want something <em> for </em> you, not from you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand.” Techno moved back toward the counter away from the door, unaware that the simple movement had shown that he was interested. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur told me all about SMP Earth.” Techno flinched slightly at the mention of Wilbur and Dream’s smile grew.  “About what you were like even before that too. The story of a <em> prince, </em> the story of an <em> emperor. </em> Of gods. Of power. Of family. You want that back, don’t you? Your family and the power to protect them.”</p><p> </p><p>“I already have the power to protect them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, we both know you have the <em> power.” </em></p><p> </p><p>There had been something very wrong with Dream’s tone, and Techno narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a great warrior, we both know this. You were able to beat me one on one during that duel.” Something didn’t add up, but Techno didn’t have time to think on it further as Dream looked at him appraisingly, continuing, “what I want is that power on <em> my </em> side, not against me.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno glared at him. “You want me to be your weapon.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, no.” Dream shook his head, saying quickly, “I want you to be my partner.” He stood straighter, saying with businesslike formality, “I’ve become bored and have decided to… take things up a notch. Only I need someone on my side, someone able to match me in strength, in order to successfully execute the next steps.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Rivalstwt pog?- Oh, shut up- we’re not getting- bruh- I mean would it be that bad- Dream is a pretty bad dude- we all saw yesterday right?- E- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“And you want that to be me?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the real reason why I invited you here in the first place. I’d get help on my project. You’d be able to protect Phil and Tommy, and I’d revive Wilbur for you- more as a show of friendship than anything. You could finally talk to him.” Dream took a step forward, whispering sinisterly, “and don’t you miss it?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno blinked. “Miss… what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Being in control.” Dream came even closer, looking into Techno’s eyes. “I know you do.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m an anarchist, Dream.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re an anarchist as a response to what happened on SMP Earth.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno took a slow step back. </p><p> </p><p>Crossing his arms but not pursuing, Dream said, gesturing with one hand, “with me by your side it wouldn’t happen again. I mean-” he laughed, “I’ve practically already got everyone on this server wrapped around my finger, there are just a few loose ends to tie up, and I need your help with those. All you need to do is say yes, and then you can have everything you and Wilbur talked about. Anything and everything would be yours.”</p><p> </p><p>A glowing proposition, but things were definitely too good to be true. However, Technoblade would be lying if he said that it wasn’t tempting. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sounds like a villain monologue to me, chief!- definitely not good- sus as FUCK- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He agreed with Chat and it finally became clear to him what the answer was here. “I do not accept.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno saw Dream’s eyebrow shoot up in anger and surprise as he hissed, “what?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to help you with whatever you have planned for this server.” Technoblade crossed his arms, mirroring Dream. “I also do not take kindly to you threatenin’ Phil and Tommy in order to try an’ win my loyalty.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream squinted at him but raised his hands defeatedly after a moment. “Fine, you don’t have to work with me, but I have one more offer.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll say no.”</p><p> </p><p>“Even for Wilbur?” Dream looked at him with faux distress. “I assumed you’d do more for him if you truly cared.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, like I said earlier, you obviously don’t know me, and you don’t know Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I do know who you are <em> exactly. </em> You can’t lie to me, Technoblade.” Dream’s hands twitched, and he said, “a favor. That’s all I ask. You don’t need to help me permanently, but only once. A small favor to me is all it would take for you to save Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m… gonna have to say no.” Techno turned to leave but felt Dream grab onto his wrist firmly. </p><p> </p><p>Meanicingly, with his grip on Techno’s wrist tightening, “you won’t get a second chance, and I think you’ll regret not making the right choice.” </p><p> </p><p>Heads. </p><p> </p><p>Tails. </p><p> </p><p>A choice. </p><p> </p><p>Techno ripped his hand away from Dream but did not try to leave again. Instead, he stepped toward the man until the both of them were face to face in an apparent standoff. </p><p> </p><p>“I think it is <em> you </em> who needs to be careful, Dream, of doing somethin’ you’ll regret.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream did not back down from the challenge. “Watch your back, Technoblade. If you’re not with me, you’re against me, and this is <em> my </em> world.”</p><p> </p><p>“Try me.”</p><p> </p><p>After a tense moment, Techno turned his back to Dream, opening the door and immediately being hit by a gust of cold air. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, all he knew was that he didn’t want to be around Dream any longer as he wandered into the snow. </p><p> </p><p>The admin followed him outside anyway but turned to head in a different direction than Techno, who had looked toward the stables. </p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t over, Techno,” Dream called over his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“It is.” He glared at the admin. “I don’t want to see again anytime soon, and if you start anything with Phil or Tommy, I <em> will </em> hear about it and you will rue the day you decided to make me an enemy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wanted an ally, but if you wish to be enemies, then I will destroy everything you love, and I will make you <em> watch.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Techno just laughed, “you need better threats if you’re going to try and scare me. No matter what happens, I’ll stop you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t.” Dream smiled. “You’re already too late.”</p><p> </p><p>A chill ran down his spine. “Too late for what?” Techno said threateningly. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going to tell you,” the admin said with another smirk. “You’re powerless to change this one’s fate, just like you were unable to change Wilbur’s.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno made fists stepped towards Dream, but the man just winked and disappeared.</p><p> </p><p>Soft snow was falling over the village. </p><p> </p><p>Techno took his first full breath since Dream had been there. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is… not good- you can say that again- just kill him- blood for the blood god, ya know?- E- E- E- definitely blood for the blood god- technoprotect- pissed off the guy with access to- we’ve fought gods before how hard can it- Technoblade neva dies!- BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD- we have to stop him- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He sighed. </p><p> </p><p>He was trapped again, in that stupid maze that was his mind and memories. A terrifying web of emotions and pain, many of which he was not ready to face in any capacity. </p><p> </p><p>Part of him wanted to go to Phil and Tommy right then and there, fall onto his knees and explain everything. To beg for… forgiveness? To <em> ask </em> for forgiveness?</p><p> </p><p>But no… no. It was too complicated. </p><p> </p><p>Another part of him, the more logical part, simply advised him to bide his time. Find those last few puzzle pieces, <em> then </em> act. </p><p> </p><p>Techno glanced at the footprints where Dream had teleported from. </p><p> </p><p>Option one. Get help from others. Warn them. </p><p> </p><p>Option two. Figure it out on your own like you have been doing this entire time. </p><p> </p><p>A single laugh escaped him. </p><p> </p><p>He took out a coin from one of the secret pockets sewn into his cape and flipped it into the snow. </p><p> </p><p>It landed on its edge pointed straight up, being held that way by the snow. </p><p> </p><p>Another long sigh. </p><p> </p><p>This was truly his decision. No coin toss could help him now. </p><p> </p><p>Techno glanced in the direction he knew would bring him back to the SMP. He was the human GPS after all, he remembered which way he had come from. </p><p> </p><p>Then, his head turned to the horse stables. </p><p> </p><p>It would be so nice to just… vanish. </p><p> </p><p>Live on his own again. </p><p> </p><p>Make a nice cabin somewhere here in the mountains. </p><p> </p><p>Solve the mystery before having to confront Phil. </p><p> </p><p>Know everything with certainty. </p><p> </p><p>A cold wind brushed past his face and he heard a voice echo from his past. </p><p> </p><p><em> “Techno, you cannot keep holding on to that safety and certainty as your grounding wire. You cannot stay comfortable. </em> <b> <em>This world is not comfortable.</em> </b> <em> It means you must take risks. It means you must make mistakes. You’re going to get hurt. You’re going to suffer. You’re going to fuck up so royally that everyone will hate you and you will be completely alone, and </em> <b> <em>that</em> </b> <em> right then and there is when you’re going to pick yourself off of the damn floor and keep fighting… or you will die.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Techno frowned, shaking his head. He wanted to scream at the voice, he wanted to yell, asking at the top of his lungs whether it was even worth it. </p><p> </p><p>The giver of this advice certainly hadn’t followed it. </p><p> </p><p>The hypocrite. </p><p> </p><p>(It was easier for him to ignore the sinking feeling enveloping him if he focused on that feeling of betrayal. It was easier to ignore the truth.)</p><p> </p><p>With a huff of cold air, he turned away from the SMP and headed to find that horse who had saved him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Why am I writing so much this week? I finished and published “I’d Bet My Life For You” (which if you haven’t read yet, go check it out :D) which was supposed to be 5,000 words and it ended up being over 15,000<br/>And then I started writing this chapter and was like, “oh, this is an interesting one. Maybe it’ll reach 5,000 words.”<br/>ITS 7,700+<br/>WHAT AM I DOING? I HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN WRITING WITH COFFEE TO FUEL ME</p><p>Anywayyyyy, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Lot’s o lore!<br/>What are you thinking?<br/>Maybe… drop a comment? Please? *rattles cup* please? Some comments for a poor author?<br/>[of course you don’t have to, but comments fuel me and they also help me to know what y’all are liking/not liking so that I can improve. If you talk about theories or questions, those help SO MUCH, and I would like to thank anyone who has done either of those on this fic. It really helps me to know what I need to hint more with to make sure you are on the right track to solve the mystery! Plus, I like giving cryptic responses to them for fun :) ]</p><p>Another fun fact: the mask that techno mentioned receiving from his father will be explained in chapter 8 of “A Degenerate Triangle is Just a Line” (which is titled “Waltz” btw) so that’s something to look forward to if you read the prequel :D</p><p>Next chapter’s title: then you’re stuck with the truth of the matter and that’ll shatter any friendships </p><p>Okay, signing off now!<br/>Kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments are always appreciated &lt;3<br/>Take care of yourself and have a great day/night wherever you are!<br/>Tuli</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. then you're stuck with the truth of the matter and that'll shatter any friendships</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It is considered bad luck to speak the name of The Scottish Play on the night of a performance (some even go so far as to say the name is always a curse upon the stage)<br/>So people usually avoid it by using monikers or following absurd rules to un-curse the cast if it is said</p><p>But what if someone <em>wanted</em> to be in a tragedy?</p><p>(Or: Tommy reads a letter, gets exiled, and dreams of a throne covered in a large, white sheet…)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’M BACK<br/>I am so sorry for the long wait!<br/>I explain my absence in the endnotes if you care :)</p><p>Quote from Wilbur’s letter during the opening of this chapter is from Act 5, Scene 5 of "Macbeth" by Shakespeare</p><p>[chapter title from Nick Blaemire’s musical, A Little More Alive]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Dear C,  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I have found no better way to say this myself, so I quote this in the hope that you’ll finally understand: </em>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Creeps in this petty pace from day to day </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> To the last syllable of recorded time. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> And all our yesterdays have lighted fools </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> And then is heard no more. It is a tale </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Signifying nothing.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <em> I have found my motto, the maxim by which my life spins.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Nothing matters. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And that fact of itself does not matter either, C. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Nothing I do or say can change the script we’ve followed since the beginning.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And in the end, it means nothing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Our morals, our feeble desires to leave a lasting mark on this world. All of us are useless, simply people whose character traits were decided by someone else. Our entire life is nothing but a shadow cast from the shapes of others, stretching out in a long line toward oblivion, endless and ultimately meaningless. They- your parents, your friends, your enemies- shape you, and you have no say in the matter. You are nothing but a character of your circumstance. Traumatized and powerless.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But nevertheless, we play our part. We “strut and fret our hour upon the stage” as if our life is important. As if we matter. And Macbeth was right, we’re idiots for it. It’s childish ignorance to think that we could ever be anything more. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I tried it, you know- you did too actually. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We wanted to step up into lead roles, and maybe even to become directors rather than players.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You were always better than me at it, weren’t you? Always placed into lead roles against your own will, shining as bright as any star.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But this is my story. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is my story, not yours.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You forfeited your role in my play so you have no right to come back now. Not now when I’ve finally managed to become the hero.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The lead. The main character.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> ...The villain?</em> <em><br/></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Am I the villain, C? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ah, but in the end, it doesn’t matter.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> At least I get a solo, who cares if it is a villain’s or a hero’s?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> My beautiful solo where I will finally finish the symphony I’ve been writing my entire life. I’m going to end it boldly, I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to go out with a bang. It will be my way out of this.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A final curtain call. A bow.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Then nothing.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> A song- a scream- of “sound and fury.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Signifying nothing.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is it, my finale.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And I won’t let you take the spotlight from me.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy folded the letter delicately and placed it in the ‘read’ pile of other letters in his ender chest, taking a long, deep breath. </p><p> </p><p>The letter had been from only a few days before November 16th. </p><p> </p><p>It was December 3rd now. </p><p> </p><p>Everything was supposed to settle down after the revolution, and it had. Tommy really had almost believed that it had. </p><p> </p><p>Sure, they still had the mystery to solve, but that was fun. It had weight to it, Tommy <em> cared </em> about the answer, but it wasn’t life or death. It wasn’t a twisting pain in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a knife in the back. </p><p> </p><p>No, what was happening now was more like the <em> threat </em> of a knife in the back. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy looked himself over in a full-length mirror for a moment, brushing his hands through his hair. </p><p> </p><p>Today was the day. </p><p> </p><p>The day where they would decide his fate, and he was on the way to a meeting with the cabinet and President, more thoughts swirling through his head than he was comfortable addressing. </p><p> </p><p>(<em>T</em><em>he letters</em>, his mind whispered like a broken record, <em> who wrote the letters? </em>)</p><p> </p><p>But that was not the concern for today. He didn’t have the option to be distracted in the slightest. Dream was a coiled snake, waiting for his time to strike, and Tommy had learned that taking his eyes off of the danger in front of him for a second meant death. </p><p> </p><p>So he wouldn’t, not today. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t afford to be distracted. </p><p> </p><p>So he had read a letter first thing, to scratch that itch. That itch he hadn’t been able to shake since he had seen that photo. Always present, not painfully, but not quite comfortably either. A bright red flag waved at him, but he didn’t know what it was warning him of. There was <em> something </em> here, something important, something he was missing, waiting on the edges of his peripherals, and if he turned to look it would vanish again like smoke. </p><p> </p><p>Something in him had screamed that morning that the letters could help him, though after reading that one, he felt like it had been the opposite. He hadn’t reacted with the same intensity as when he had read the first ‘tormented Wilbur’ letter. Tommy knows he should expect that Pogtopian Wilbur’s letters might always hurt, but this time he had felt only grief. </p><p> </p><p>(This wasn’t entirely true, because feelings are rarely ever isolated like that, but there had been a shift in him, one he wasn’t sure of. Tommy didn’t think that it was a good change.)</p><p> </p><p>He felt so empty. </p><p> </p><p>So cold. </p><p> </p><p>And those letters were warm. </p><p> </p><p>But, no. </p><p> </p><p>No. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t afford to be distracted by the letters.</p><p> </p><p>Without even consciously realizing it, he had walked to the obsidian walls surrounding L’Manberg, being ripped from his introspection by arguing voices.  </p><p> </p><p>“We <em> need </em> a plan for today!” That was Quackity. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m perfectly open to suggestions over you all just shouting at me!” Tubbo was standing facing Fundy, Quackity, and Ranboo, crossing his arms. There was a new confidence in him that worried Tommy. It felt weird to worry about <em> confidence </em> in all things, Tommy wanted Tubbo to feel comfortable in his political position, but what Tommy saw in the way that Tubbo stood was something more than just confidence. It was something slimy, something dangerous. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, guys.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy faced him first with a relieved sigh, “thank the gods you’re here. Tommy, please help us convince Tubbo that there is another option here than punishing you for some dumb thing that Dream just happened to decide was too far, even though the man has done worse things himself.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy blinked at Fundy for a second, surprised that he had an ally in the cabinet, especially considering it was Fundy who hadn’t been particularly close with him as far as he knew. By the way Quackity was looking at him with fiery courage, he also seemed to agree with Fundy. </p><p> </p><p>“Fundy is right, Tubbo.” His friend’s gaze moved to Tommy, who joined the discussion by taking a place beside Quackity and Fundy. Ranboo stood off to the side, appearing to be backing neither side, but from Tubbo’s defensive posture and the emotions warring across Fundy’s and Quackity’s faces, it was clear that this hadn’t been a discussion of a political cabinet, but rather an argument between a cabinet and a President. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy wondered for a second why Tubbo would be on the ‘opposing side’ then remembered what he had said the previous day. </p><p> </p><p>“Dream isn’t doing this because he wants order and peace. Dream wants obedience.” Tommy continued, ignoring the way Tubbo’s eyes narrowed slightly, “Dream wants us under his thumb again. Are we seriously forgetting the first war? Are we forgetting the fact that he was supposed to stand with Pogtopia, but the day before the revolution he suddenly switched sides?”</p><p> </p><p>“But Tommy-”</p><p> </p><p>“No! This isn’t about me!” He looked emphatically at the others. “This is about standing up against Dream. I can… <em> understand </em> that I may have made a mistake, but this is not the right answer.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo turned uncharacteristically cold eyes to him. “Then what is the right answer, Tommy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do what L’Manberg was made to do!” He pleaded, “provide a place free of Dream’s tyranny. A home for us, a safe place where we can live.”</p><p> </p><p>“A safe place.” Tubbo’s voice was quiet. </p><p> </p><p>“We need to fight back against Dream. We can’t let him push us around like this,” Quackity said forcefully. “I know we just got out of one, but we might need to prepare for a war.”</p><p> </p><p>There was silence as everyone just stood there in shock for a second. </p><p> </p><p>“A war?” Tubbo asked. </p><p> </p><p>“What Dream is doing isn’t right,” Fundy interjected. “I don’t want another war as much as you do, but we can’t let this keep happening.”</p><p> </p><p>“But Dream- and the walls-”</p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo!” Quackity took a step forward. “Dream is worried, <em> we </em> made him worried because we’re so strong now, because we have a good leader and good people. We’re a threat.” He glanced at Fundy and Tommy who both nodded supportingly. “Everyone knows that Dream has gone too far with this whole thing. Yes, maybe Tommy should be disciplined, but that is up to us. Not Dream.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo looked to the ground, then, quietly, “so what do you propose we do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fight back,” Quackity said immediately.</p><p> </p><p>“Get help,” Fundy added. “There must be others who think the same as us and would be willing to help us. Maybe… like the Badlands!” </p><p> </p><p>Quackity nodded animatedly. “Of course! They helped out Pogtopia, didn’t they? Surely they’d help us again.” A new idea flashed through his eyes. “Oh! And I think I could even get some of the main SMP on our side, maybe even George and Sapnap.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy smiled, “surely we can make a stand then! Pretty much everyone on the server would be against him, he wouldn’t stand a chance, and then he’d <em> have </em> to listen to us.”</p><p> </p><p>“And then we’d really be free!” Tommy almost literally jumped up and down. “This whole time, Dream’s been able to hold it above our heads that he’s stronger than us, but without that? He’s nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>“He still has your disc, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, that’s Skeppy. Dream can’t threaten me anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“So that’s the plan then?” Fundy looked between Tommy and Quackity. “We split up and get some allies?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p> </p><p>“We can do it!”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, who is going where?”</p><p> </p><p>“I can talk to Sam-”</p><p> </p><p>“I can find Sapnap-”</p><p> </p><p>As Quackity, Fundy, and Tommy planned their strike against Dream, none of them paid attention to Tubbo. None of them noticed his eyes darken as soon as they formed a circle around each other, effectively cutting him from the conversation. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo watched helplessly, feeling as though he was not qualified enough to speak, but he saw Tubbo’s expression shift from one of consideration into one of dark certainty. </p><p> </p><p>They continued to scheme, completely ignoring Tubbo who grew more and more frustrated as the conversation passed without his input. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, he yelled, “none of this matters if he kills us today!”</p><p> </p><p>All three whipped back around to face him. </p><p> </p><p>“He won’t, he’s outnumbered.” Quackity said confidently. </p><p> </p><p>“And if he does?”</p><p> </p><p>“Then, we fight ‘im.” Tommy stood up a little straighter. “Show that green fucker who’s boss.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeaaaah! My man!” Quackity clapped Tommy on the back. Fundy grinned at the pair. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine.” There was a tension to Tubbo that no one seemed to notice. </p><p> </p><p>“Finally!” Fundy yelled. “We’re going to stand up to him once and for all!”</p><p> </p><p>At that moment, Quackity looked over the walls and noticed Dream himself coming toward L’Manberg via the Prime Path. His mask was completely on, but his emotions were still obvious. Carefully controlled rage boiled in him as the admin looked up at them waiting on the walls and began to climb the poorly made stairs up to where they were on the walls. </p><p> </p><p>Quackity turned back to the others and said, “okay, we’ve got the plan right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep.”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity looked at Tubbo. </p><p> </p><p>“I know what I need to do,” he said simply, and the other’s mistook his strange intonation for fear or apprehension, not the malice and rage it truly was. </p><p> </p><p>Dream reached the expanded platform atop the obsidian walls, stopping a few feet from the group who were now positioned with Quackity, Tommy, and Fundy shoulder to shoulder with Ranboo somewhere behind them and Tubbo a few steps in front of them as their leader. They should have realized that as the leader, Tubbo had the right to lead them, not to be led <em> around </em> by them. “So,” Dream began, “have you made a decision?”</p><p> </p><p>“We have-” Tommy started only to be cut off. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy!” Tubbo said angrily over his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>The blond relaxed, holding his hands up gently. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo turned back to Dream and continued, “we- I have… made a decision.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream’s head tilted ever so slightly. “I trust you. I trust that you’re the best leader L’Manberg has ever had and that you will make the best decision <em> for L’Manberg. </em> I trust that the decision you came to <em> is </em> the best decision for L’Manberg.”</p><p> </p><p>“It…” </p><p> </p><p>And that was the moment of no return. </p><p> </p><p>Two options, though Tubbo wished there was a third. </p><p> </p><p>Almost automatically, Tubbo turned around to look at Quackity, Fundy, Tommy, and Ranboo, who were looking at him with hope and excitement. </p><p> </p><p>There was no fear in their eyes, and that made Tubbo physically sick. </p><p> </p><p>When he looked at Tommy, suddenly all he could feel was hate. He didn’t even really know where the loathing was coming from, but for some reason, he found himself unable to look at his friend for another second and focused again on Dream. </p><p> </p><p>For a single moment, the hatred flipped from being directed at Tommy to being directed at himself. But it disappeared in an instant and he was again looking at the man who had truly had his back. The man who had empathized with his position. The man who had shown him a part of himself, a personal, <em> vulnerable </em> side that Tubbo hadn’t even known existed. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Helping a friend by doing what is right, even if they can’t see it at first, is not a betrayal.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a betrayal.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “This isn’t for Tommy. It’s for L’Manberg.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy was wrong, Dream wasn’t doing this to control L’Manberg, he was trying to protect it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I’ll back you up if need be. That cabinet of yours needs to learn to respect your decisions, you are the President, right?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo was the president. His own cabinet didn’t have his back, but the man who he had gone to war with <em> did, </em> so what did that say about his so-called friends?</p><p> </p><p>He felt like a rubber band about to snap, stretched to its absolute limit, and the only way of getting some relief was to let go. </p><p> </p><p>Two choices. </p><p> </p><p>But this was not a coin flip. </p><p> </p><p>Lives were on the line. </p><p> </p><p>In the end, there was only one real choice, wasn’t there?</p><p> </p><p>“Dream…”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo made his decision, setting things onto an entirely new path, yet not so new at all. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Tubbo began to laugh. </p><p> </p><p>The outburst confused the cabinet, but they laughed along with him after a moment, thinking that he was laughing at Dream.</p><p> </p><p>“This is funny,” he laughed, his voice filled with a fragile tremor. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy raised his eyebrows hesitantly. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo turned back to him for a second and Tommy almost stopped breathing when he met Tubbo’s eyes. “Tommy... I am so, so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo… what?”</p><p> </p><p>The moment broke as Tubbo looked away, facing Dream once again. </p><p> </p><p>“Dream,” Tubbo’s voice grew firm, “the most logical thing to do… is for Tommy to be exiled from L’Manberg. War is not the best for this nation, conflict is not the best thing for this nation.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo had barely finished speaking when the others started yelling.</p><p> </p><p>“WHAT!”</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck!”</p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo? What the-”</p><p> </p><p>“We had a <em> plan!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Tubbo whipped around with clenched fists, shouting, “you are thinking emotionally! Your anger is carrying you away and making you act irrationally! We can’t risk it. War will bring destruction and terror that we cannot force upon our citizens.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo-”</p><p> </p><p>“No! You’ve undermined my authority from the get-go.” There was no stopping him now as Tubbo continued to yell, “you all jump onto these merry little bandwagons of destruction, and it's <em> not okay! </em> And you definitely do not have the best interests of this nation in your heart, which you have made more apparent to me than ever today.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t-”</p><p> </p><p>“The fucking-”</p><p> </p><p>“I made a promise to do what’s best for the nation,” Tubbo raged on, “and right now, Tommy, your presence is not best for the nation.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had been silent, then, softly, the next words were drawn from him, “but before everything- before… the discs Tubbo!” He begged, “what about the discs?”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s eyes were cold and emotionless. “They’re just music discs, they shouldn’t be able to dictate the future of an entire nation.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo,” Fundy’s voice was calmer, but laced with righteous anger, “you know-” he paused. Then, unyielding, “you know who you’re reminding me of right now?”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo stiffened, but asked quietly, “who?”</p><p> </p><p>“Schlatt.”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity narrowed his eyes. “You know what? He’s right. You <em> are </em> acting just like Schlatt, and I would know out of anyone here!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy took a step forward, shouting, “this is what Dream wants!” A beat. Quietly, “why? How could- the discs-”</p><p> </p><p>The rubber band snapped. “THE DISCS DON’T MATTER TOMMY! How can you not see that?”</p><p> </p><p>Instinctually, Tommy took a small step back, stumbling over his words. “If they don’t matter…” Tommy was shattering into pieces, barely able to stand on his own two feet as thousands of thoughts, emotions, and memories raced through his head, crushing him like a stampede. He couldn’t breathe. “If you have no attachment to things- if- if…” all he can think is: <em> the letter, the letter, the letter. </em> Tommy’s chest was tight, and the metaphorical knife in his back only twisted more and more. “If <em> nothing </em> matters, then why does any- any of this matter at all?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy wanted to scream and shout, he wanted to yell and destroy. </p><p> </p><p>But he only stood there, broken and more alone than he’d ever felt. </p><p> </p><p>Was that really all he had been doing?</p><p> </p><p>An idiot, rebelling with sound and fury? Signifying <em> nothing? </em> Nothing at all?</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo looked at him disdainfully, and Tommy <em> could not recognize </em> the person before him. “Tommy, you are hereby exiled.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no!” Quackity yelled. </p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo!”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo forged ahead when no one moved, “Dream, please detain and escort Tommy out of my country.” </p><p> </p><p>The admin nodded his head and stepped forward in order to grab Tommy’s arm and attempt to pull him away from the scene. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy tried to resist for a second but gave in only a moment later when he realized it would be useless. His eyes never left Tubbo whose face gave away no kind emotions. His voice was soft, “you’re my friend.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo did not respond but instead turned to face Quackity and Fundy who began to yell at him. The President did not flinch under their scrutiny and verbal attack. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy could tell that Quackity and Fundy were saying things down to him as well, but he didn’t process the words. He was in complete and utter shock. </p><p> </p><p>Hearing Dream’s voice felt like he was being pulled above the ice of a frozen lake. “You need to listen to me Tommy if you don’t want to die.”</p><p> </p><p>Again, he felt like screaming, like punching and kicking. </p><p> </p><p>But then… </p><p> </p><p>One out of three. </p><p> </p><p>One life left. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo had betrayed him. </p><p> </p><p>What would resisting do?</p><p> </p><p>Nothing he did mattered now. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s eyes fell to his feet and he said softly, defeatedly, “okay.” </p><p> </p><p>Dream’s grip loosened slowly as if he still expected Tommy to try and run away, but he remained by Dream’s side. After a moment, the admin began to walk and motioned at him to follow. “Come on, we’re going to be going a long while.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy blinked at him. “I’m only exiled from L’Manberg.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream laughed, and Tommy either wanted to punch him or cry, or even some terrible mix of both that felt like it was tearing him apart. “Oh, no. You’re exiled from anywhere that’s been touched.”</p><p> </p><p>A pause. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy.” Dream’s voice was cold as he pushed Tommy forward away from L'Manberg. Then, he turned around slowly, looking at something behind them. “Is.. uh-” he pointed at a transparent form in the distance.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy looked at Ghostbur who was running after them. </p><p> </p><p>“Is he coming?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s eyes once again found the ground and stayed there. “I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream hummed, starting a conversation that Tommy didn’t care enough to listen to with the spectre. </p><p> </p><p>His thoughts circled around Tubbo. </p><p> </p><p>His friend. </p><p> </p><p>His closest friend. </p><p> </p><p>Or, at least, the person who he thought had been his closest friend. </p><p> </p><p>How? How did it get like this? </p><p> </p><p>Was it a communication issue? Was it Dream?</p><p> </p><p>Or was it him?</p><p> </p><p>For his entire life, Tommy had always been a trouble maker, but for that entire time he had brushed off every consequence. It had never occurred to him that he might’ve been the one in the wrong. Tommy was too focused on the flaws of others to notice his own, and when he did it was usually from a place of ignorance that he quickly covered up with some false confidence. </p><p> </p><p>He had his own maxim that his life had revolved around. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy Innit was always in the right. </p><p> </p><p>But this server, all this time with Dream, with wars, with a slowly crumbling Wilbur, had <em> forced </em> him to consider the alternative. </p><p> </p><p>Consequences were real here. He was acting like they weren’t. </p><p> </p><p>Like there was no such thing as death. </p><p> </p><p>Like all his pranks were harmless, even though they weren’t. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy Innit was in the wrong. </p><p> </p><p>And in that moment, all he could think of was how much of a burden he was on everyone else. About how much he had hurt them. </p><p> </p><p>And the next subsequent thought was that he deserved this. </p><p> </p><p>It was good he'd exiled because he couldn’t hurt them anymore. </p><p> </p><p>He must’ve done something, right?</p><p> </p><p>He must’ve done something truly terrible for Tubbo to look at him like that. </p><p> </p><p>And it hurt. </p><p> </p><p>It hurt so bad. </p><p> </p><p>So when Dream told him that they would be sailing to his exile, Tommy boarded the boat without complaint. </p><p> </p><p>It was a small thing. A vessel likely made for no more than two or three people, but it fit Dream, Tommy, and Ghostbur just fine. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy wasn’t sure how to react when the ghost boarded right after him, and he was sure that Ghostbur had managed to work something out with Dream about coming. He thought that he heard something Dream said about a vacation. </p><p> </p><p>Hm, he thought, probably better to lie to the bright and positive apparition. Tommy worried what Ghostbur would think of him if he heard what Tommy had done. He wondered if the ghost would look at him with Wilbur’s eyes, with his brother’s eyes that always managed to make him feel bad. </p><p> </p><p>That had been the reason he had stuck with Wilbur for so long. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was his brother, no matter what. </p><p> </p><p>But Tommy had done horrible things too. He had done them of his own volition, without an excuse. </p><p> </p><p>Rain fell from the sky, starting slowly at first and ramping up to a downpour. </p><p> </p><p>Dream took his place at the wheel of the boat, pointing to a place near the back and handing Tommy a blanket that he wrapped tightly around himself. </p><p> </p><p>Ghostbur tried to hold a conversation with him, but Tommy was only partially present, answering with the most simple responses his brain would allow. </p><p> </p><p>He was just so tired. </p><p> </p><p>As Tommy leaned against the side of the ship, his exhaustion finally hit him. He was sad, broken, and guilty for something that he didn’t even know how to explain, and that made it all worse. </p><p> </p><p>He truly was a horrible person, a horrible friend, wasn’t he?</p><p> </p><p>Tommy crumpled into a tight ball in the back corner of the ship and clung to the blanket Dream had given to him, feeling gratitude toward the man for the small gesture of comfort. </p><p> </p><p>The ship was sailing now as Ghostbur took shelter from the rain under a makeshift umbrella and spoke with Dream. </p><p> </p><p>The boat swayed gently with the waves. </p><p> </p><p>Back and forth. </p><p> </p><p>Back and forth. </p><p> </p><p>Back and forth. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s eyelids felt so heavy. </p><p> </p><p>He could fall asleep right there. </p><p> </p><p>The boat rocked him back and forth as freezing rain continued to pelt down from the heavens. </p><p> </p><p>Back and forth. </p><p> </p><p>Back and forth. </p><p> </p><p>Back and forth. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, feeling the waves continue to lull him into a deep sleep. </p><p> </p><p>Back and forth and back and forth and back and-</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was snowing outside the large glass windows of the room.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “One, two, three. One, two, three.” A woman laughed, gliding with Tommy across a marble dance floor. “Now you’ve finally got it!”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “This is so dumb,” A younger Tommy said, scowling. “Waltzing is dumb. No,” he corrected, “dancing as a whole is dumb.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The woman laughed again, flipping dark black hair over her shoulder, breaking apart from him as the song ended, and curtsying with her large, stormy-gray dress fluffing out around her.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And suddenly, as he bowed in return, Tommy was made aware of the entire room as if a switch had been flipped.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hundreds of well-dressed attendees paced the large ballroom, some dancing like he was, some eating at long buffet tables, and some conversing in large groups.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His mind supplied the reason: The Antarctic Empire’s Winter Solstice Ball.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I can’t say it was a pleasure,” the woman continued merrily, “you’re not much of a dancer. But I can say that it was wonderful to pass on some knowledge to the younger generation.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Kara.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The woman, Kara, smiled and left with a small nod. “Good luck, ambassador.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Ah! Tommy!” Another hand wrapped around his shoulders and someone ruffled his hair. Tommy turned to see Wilbur, who was wearing a checkered sweater and black suit. “It’s great to see you here! Thought you said you wouldn’t come though?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “I didn’t want to.” Tommy had said, crossing his arms and pulling away. “As you know the relationship between Business Bay and The Antarctic Empire is… strained at the moment.”</em> <em><br/></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur grinned at him, “and why is that, Tommy?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He rolled his eyes.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur only laughed, catching the eyes of another man and beckoning him over. “Phil!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Heya, mate!” The Co-Emperor was decked out in royal blues, deep purples, and faded greens, and a silver crown resided on the top of his platinum blonde hair, reaching up toward the ceiling with long, thin rays of metal, like moonlight, giving Phil an almost angelic appearance.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hey, Phil.” Tommy began nervously. “No hard feelings, right?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The Emperor appraised him coldly, then his mask broke and he smiled. “I understand, Tommy. You’re safe here.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I hope you both are enjoying the party?”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur nodded and Tommy, after a moment, joined him begrudgingly. The food was great and no wars had started yet, so all in all, a pretty great party. He had nothing to complain about considering that his intention in coming here was to make sure that The Antarctic Empire wasn't going to return to Business Bay for any more destruction.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Well, I must go and speak with the other guests,” Phil began to turn away, “but I’ll be sure to come back and talk to you two later when everything’s died down a bit.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And that was when Tommy saw it.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Near the end of the room was a raised stage with two gleaming thrones that everyone knew belonged to the two joint Emperors of the Empire.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Between and slightly behind them, however, was something that Tommy had not seen before, and it was flickering, almost as if it was a projection of some sort and not a real object.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It looked like another throne, but it was covered in a large, white sheet that was collecting dust.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sure, it could just be an extra throne, but that didn’t make sense. It was positioned between the other two thrones and seemed to hold center stage.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His eyes felt drawn to it as he stopped Phil.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Phil?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The Emperor smiled kindly. “Yes?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Who does that throne belong to?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Tommy.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Just a second, Will.” He brushed it off.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “What throne?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy pointed. “The one in between the others. The third.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur’s hand returned, but this time he was gripping Tommy’s arm painfully. “Tommy.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Just a second,” Tommy hissed.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “A third?” Phil raised his eyebrows as he looked where Tommy was pointing, oblivious to whatever was going on between Wilbur and Tommy. “Tommy, there’s-”</em> <em><br/></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur’s grip managed to tighten even further. “Tommy.” His voice was different, colder than Tommy remembered.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Tommy, I don’t know what you’re talking about… there is no third throne.”</em> <em><br/></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tommy's breath caught in his throat.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>“Tommy.”</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy was jolted awake by Dream’s hand gripping his shoulder and he panicked for a second, looking all around and remembering where he was. </p><p> </p><p>The rain had not let up, but the boat was no longer rocking. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re here.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>First off, where I’ve been:<br/>So, I will not delve too deep into my personal life, but I’ve been having a terrible past couple of weeks.<br/>At first, the wait was because I had been camping completely off the grid. Fun times.<br/>I didn’t get any writing done obviously during that time<br/>Then, when I got back to civilization, my mental health took a turn for the worse and because of that I got really sick<br/>I have been living in pain and suffering since then<br/>BUT, now I’m feeling a bit better and hopefully (crossing my fingers) everything will be back to a stable normal and I can get back on my upload schedule</p><p>Thank you so much for your patience &lt;3<br/>And thank you for reading!</p><p>How did you enjoy the chapter? Lore, angst, and the beginnings of exile, oh my! What are you thinking, hmm? :)</p><p>Kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments are always appreciated</p><p>Next Chapter: I left my life back there</p><p>Again, thank you all for being patient with me,<br/>Tuli &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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